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REYNARD  THE  FOX 


BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 


Gallipoli 

Right  Royal 

The  Faithful 

The  Locked  Chest 

Lost  Endeavor 

Selected  Poems 

Captain  Margaret 

A  Mainsail  Haul 

The  Old  Front  Line 

Multitude  and  Solitude 

The  Daffodil  Fields 

Enslaved  and  Other  Poems 

Collected  Poems  and  Plays 

The  War  and  the  Future 

Salt-Water  Poems  and  Ballads 

Good  Friday  and  Other  Poems 

The  Tragedy  of  Pompey  the  Great 

Lollingdon  Downs  and  Other  Poems 

Philip  the  King  and  Other  Poems 

The  Tragedy  of  Nan  and  Other  Plays 

The  Story  of  a  Round-House  and  Other  Poems 

The  Everlasting  Mercy  and  the  Widow  of  Bye  Street 


REYNARD  THE  FOX 

BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 

WITH    SIXTEEN    PLATES    BY 

G.  D.  ARMOUR 

AND 
MANY    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

CARTON  MOOREPARK 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 

AH  rights  reserved 


COPTRIGHT,  1919  AND  1920. 

By  JOHN  MASEFIELD. 


New  illustrated  edition.  October,  1920. 

New  Edition  with  illustrations  by 

G.  D.  Armour  and  Carton  Moorepark — 1921, 


PRINTED  IN  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


INTRODUCTION 

I  HAVE  been  asked  to  write  why  I  wrote  this  poem  of  "Reynard 
the  Fox."  As  a  man  grows  older,  Hfe  becomes  more  interesting 
but  less  easy  to  know;  for,  late  in  life,  even  the  strongest  yields 
to  the  habit  of  his  compartment.  When  he  cannot  range  through 
all  society,  from  the  court  to  the  gutter,  a  man  must  go  where 
all  society  meets,  as  at  the  Pilgrimage,  the  Festival  or  the  Game. 
Here  in  England  the  Game  is  both  a  festival  and  an  occasion  of 
pilgrimage.  A  man  wanting  to  set  down  a  picture  of  the  society 
of  England  will  find  his  models  at  the  games. 

What  are  the  English  games }  The  man's  game  is  Association 
football ;  the  woman's  game,  perhaps,  hockey  or  lacrosse.  Golf 
I  regard  more  as  a  symptom  of  a  happy  marriage  than  a  game. 
Cricket,  which  was  once  widely  popular  among  both  sexes  has  lost 
its  hold,  except  among  the  young.  The  worst  of  all  these  games 
is  that  few  can  play  them  at  a  time. 

But  in  the  English  country,  during  the  autumn,  winter  and 
early  spring  of  each  year,  the  main  sport  is  fox  hunting,  which 
is  not  like  cricket  or  football,  a  game  for  a  few  and  a  spectacle 
for  many,  but  something  in  which  all  who  come  may  take  a  part, 
whether  rich  or  poor,  mounted  or  on  foot.  It  is  a  sport  loved  and 
followed  by  both  sexes,  all  ages  and  all  classes.     At  a  fox  hunt, 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

and  nowhere  else  in  England,  except  perhaps  at  a  funeral,  can 
you  see  the  whole  of  the  land's  society  brought  together,  focussed 
for  the  observer,  as  the  Canterbury  pilgrims  were  for  Chaucer. 

This  fact  made  the  subject  attractive.  The  fox  hunt  gave  an 
opportunity  for  a  picture  or  pictures  of  the  members  of  an  English 
community. 

Then  to  all  Englishmen  who  have  lived  in  a  hunting  country, 
hunting  is  in  the  blood,  and  the  mind  is  full  of  it.  It  is  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  stirring  sight  to  be  seen  in  England.  In 
the  ports,  as  at  Falmouth,  there  are  ships  under  sail,  under  way, 
coming  or  going,  beautiful  unspeakably.  In  the  country,  espe- 
cially on  the  great  fields  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Downland,  the 
teams  of  the  ploughmen  may  be  seen  bowing  forward  on  a  sky- 
line, and  this  sight  can  never  fail  to  move  one  by  its  majesty  of 
beauty.  But  in  neither  of  these  sights  of  beauty  is  there  the 
bright  colour  and  swift  excitement  of  the  hunt,  nor  the  thrill  of 
the  horn,  and  the  cry  of  the  hounds  ringing  into  the  elements  of 
the  soul.  Something  in  the  hunt  wakens  memories  hidden  in  the 
marrow,  racial  memories,  of  when  one  hunted  for  the  tribe,  animal 
memories,  perhaps,  of  when  one  hunted  with  the  pack,  or  was 
hunted. 

Hunting  has  always  been  popular  here  in  England.  In  ancient 
times  it  was  necessary.  Wolves,  wild  boar,  foxes  and  deer  had 
to  be  kept  down.  To  hunt  was  then  the  social  duty  of  the  mounted 
man,  when  he  was  not  engaged  in  war.  It  was  also  the  opportunity 
of  all  other  members  of  the  community  to  have  a  good  time  in 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

the  open,  with  a  feast  or  a  new  fur  at  the  end,  to  crown  the 
pleasure. 

Since  arms  of  precision  were  made,  hunting  on  horseback  with 
hounds  has  perhaps  been  unnecessary  everywhere,  but  it  is  not 
easy  to  end  a  pleasure  rooted  in  the  instincts  of  men.  Hunting 
has  continued,  and  probably  will  continue,  in  this  country  and 
in  Ireland.  It  is  rapidly  becoming  a  national  sport  in  the  United 
States. 

Some  have  written,  that  hunting  is  the  sport  of  the  wealthy 
man.  Some  wealthy  men  hunt,  no  doubt,  but  they  are  not  the 
backbone  of  the  sport,  so  much  as  those  who  love  and  use  horses. 
Parts  of  this  country,  of  Ireland  and  of  the  United  States  are  more 
than  ordinarily  good  pasture,  fitted  for  the  breeding  of  horses, 
beyond  most  other  places  in  the  world.  Hardly  anywhere  else 
is  the  climate  so  equable,  the  soil  so  right  for  the  feet  of  colts  and 
the  grass  so  good.  Where  these  conditions  exist,  men  will  breed 
horses  and  use  them.  Men  who  breed  good  horses  will  ride, 
jump  and  test  them,  and  will  invent  means  of  riding,  jumping 
and  testing  them,  the  steeplechase,  the  circus,  the  contests  at 
fairs  and  shows,  the  point-to-point  meeting,  and  they  will  preserve, 
if  possible,  any  otherwise  dying  sport  which  offers  such  means. 

I  have  mentioned  several  reasons  why  fox  hunting  should  be 
popular :  (a)  that  it  is  a  social  business,  at  which  the  whole  com- 
munity may  and  does  attend  in  vast  numbers  in  a  pleasant  mood  of 
goodwill,  good  humour  and  equality,  and  during  which  all  may 
go  anywhere,  into  ground  otherwise  shut  to  them ;  {b)  that  it  is 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

done  in  the  winter,  at  a  season  when  other  social  gatherings  are 
difficult,  and  in  country  districts  where  no  buildings,  except  the 
churches,  could  contain  the  numbers  assembled ;  (c)  that  it  is 
most  beautiful  to  watch,  so  beautiful  that  perhaps  very  few  of 
the  acts  of  men  can  be  so  lovely  to  watch  nor  so  exhilarating. 
The  only  thing  to  be  compared  with  it,  in  this  country,  is  the 
sword  dance,  the  old  heroical  dancing  of  the  young  men,  still 
practised,  in  all  its  splendour  of  wild  beauty,  in  some  country  places  ; 
id)  that  we  are  a  horse-loving  people  who  have  loved  horses  as 
we  have  loved  the  sea,  and  have  made,  in  the  course  of  genera- 
tions, a  breed  of  horse,  second  to  none  in  the  world,  for  beauty 
and  speed. 

But  besides  all  these  reasons,  there  is  another  that  brings  many 
out  hunting.  This  is  the  delight  in  hunting,  in  the  working  of 
hounds,  by  themselves,  or  with  the  huntsmen,  to  find  and  kill 
their  fox.  Though  many  men  and  women  hunt  in  order  to  ride, 
many  still  ride  in  order  to  hunt. 

Perhaps  this  delight  in  hunting  was  more  general  in  the  mid- 
eighteenth  century,  when  hounds  were  much  slower  than  at 
present.  Then,  the  hunt  was  indeed  a  test  of  hounds  and  hunts- 
man. The  fox  was  not  run  down  but  hunted  down.  The  great 
run  then  was  that  in  which  hounds  and  huntsman  kept  to  their 
fox.  The  great  run  now  is  perhaps  that  in  which  some  few  riders 
keep  with  the  hounds. 

The  ideal  run  of  1750  might  have  been  described  thus :  — 

"Being  in  the  current  of  Writing,  I  cannot  but  acquaint  your 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Lorp  of  ye  great  Hunt  there  was,  this  Tuesday  last  there  was  a 
a  Week.  Sure  so  great  a  day  has  not  been  seen  here  since  The 
Day  your  Lorp's  Father  broke  his  Collar  Bone  at  ye  Park  Wall. 
As  Milton  says  :  — 

"Well  have  we  speeded,  and  o'er  Hill  and  Dale 
Forest  and  Field  and  Flood  .  .  . 
As  far  as  Indus  east,  Euphrates  west." 

"We  had  but  dismle  Weather  of  it,  and  so  cold,  as  made  Sir 
Harry  observe,  that  it  was  an  ill  wind  blew  no-one  any  good. 
We  met  at  ye  Tailings.  I  had  out  my  brown  Horse.  There  was 
present  Sir  Anthony  Smoaker ;  Mr.  Jarvis  of  Copse  Stile ;  William 
Travis;  John  Hawbuck;  your  Lorp's  Friend,  Dick  Fancowe,  and 
two  of  ye  Red  Coats  from  ye  Barracks.  Ye  fair  Sex  was  dis- 
mayed, it  was  said,  by  ye  rudeness  of  ye  Elements;  they  did  not 
venture  it. 

"On  coming  to  draw  Tailings  Wood,  Glider  spoke  to  it,  and 
Tom  viewed  him  away  for  the  Valley,  being  the  old  Dog  Fox, 
with  the  white  Mask,  that  beat  us  at  Fubb's  Field,  the  day  your 
Lorp  road  Bluebell. 

"Now  spoke  the  chearful  Horn;   and  tuneful  Hounds 
Echoed,  and  Red  Coats  gallopped ;  stirring  Scean, 
Rude  Health  and  Manly  Wit  together  strive. 

"We  went  with  the  extream  of  Violence  from  Tailings  Wood 
to  ye  small  Coppice  at  Nap  Hill  where  a  Fellow  put  him  from  his 
Point,  which  gave  Occasion  to  Sir  Anthony  to  correct  him.     Ye 


X  INTRODUCTION 

little  magpie  Hound  made  it  out  in  ye  bog  at  ye  back  of  ye  Copy- 
pice,  when  again  Hounds  went  at  head  through  Long  Stone  Pas- 
tures as  far  as  Tainton.  Here  we  was  delayed  in  ye  Dear  Park, 
the  effluvia  of  ye  Dear  being  extream  strong  and  doubtless  puzzling 
to  the  Noses  of  ye  Hounds.  And  here  I  cannot  but  remark  the 
skill  with  which  ye  Hounds  worked  it  out  till  they  had  hit  it 
o£F,  a  sight,  as  Mr.  Jarvis  remarked  to  me,  worthy  of  the  Admira- 
tion of  an  antient  Philosopher,  and  of  the  eloquence  of  a  most 
elegant  Wit,  or  Poet.  Leaving  ye  Dear  Park,  He  made  for  Norton 
Cross,  which  he  left  on  his  left  Hand,  as  though  deciding  for  ye 
Hill.  Crossing  ye  Hill,  in  Spite  of  ye  Sheep,  he  was  a  little  stag- 
gered by  his  being  run  by  one  of  ye  Shepherd's  Doggs,  a  part  of 
Creation  that  should  not  be  tolerated,  except  in  ye  vision  of  ye 
Poet,  as  in  a  Pastoral  or  so.  Here  Joe  Phillips,  our  Huntsman, 
made  unavailing  Casts,  but  by  lifting  to  the  Vineyard  recovered 
him,  when  Hounds  run  him  to  Cow's  Crookham,  on  your  Lorp's 
Aston  Estate. 

"By  this  Time,  your  Lorp  will  understand  our  Distress.  Dick 
Fancowe  was  in  ye  Brook  at  Norton,  Mr.  Jarv'is'  grey  Horse  had 
cast  a  Shoe,  and  one  of  ye  Red  Coats  had  broak  his  Liver  in  falling 
at  a  Fence.     For  a  time  we  went  about  to  recover  him  :  — 

"Now  with  attentive  Nose  the  restless  Hound 
Endeavours  on  the  Scent,  now  here,  now  there, 
Scorning  adulterat  scents  of  lesser  Prey. 
Now  gloomy  care  invades  the  Huntsman's  Face; 
And  Sportsmen  (jovial  erst)  on  wear)'  steeds 
Sit  pensive." 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

Here  might  well  be  seen  the  Advantages  of  a  judicious  Breeding  in 
Hounds,  that  neglects  not  the  intellectual  Part,  but  aims  rather 
at  a  complete  Animal  than  alone  at  Sinews  and  Corporeal  Struc- 
ture. That  Blood  of  the  Old  Berkshire  Glorious,  which  your 
Lorp's  Father  was  wont  to  observe,  was  what  he  most  stood  by, 
next  to  our  Constitution  and  the  Protestant  Succession,  here 
stood  us  in  good  stead,  for  it  was  to  Glorious  ye  Ninth,  as  well 
as  to  Growler  and  Glider  (all  of  ye  same  royal  strain)  that  we 
was  Indebted  to  ye  happy  Conclusion.  They  pushed  him  out  of 
ye  Stubbings  at  Cow's  Crookham,  where  it  seems  he  had  taken 
Refuge  in  the  Hollow  of  a  decayed  Tree.  We  chac't  him  thence 
upon  ye  Grass  to  Shepherd's  Hey.  Here  he  began  to  run  short, 
being  not  a  little  apprehensive,  lest  his  Foes  should  triumph,  and 
snatch  from  him  that  Life,  which  he  had  so  long  nefariously 
pampered. 

On  courtly  Cock  with  all  his  household  Train 
Of  Hens  obsequious,  by  the  Hen  VV'ife  mourned. 

"The  Sun,  coming  out  from  among  ye  Clouds,  where  he  had  been 
too  long  hid,  made  (as  was  elegantly  pretended  by  Sir  Anthony),  a 
Brightness,  animating  indeed  to  us,  who  carried  the  Sword  of 
Justice,  but,  to  the  Criminal  of  our  Pursuit,  infinitely  distressing. 
Then  had  your  Lorp  seen  the  gay  Ardor  of  the  Pack,  as  they  came 
to  the  View,  which  they  did  about  Stonepits,  your  Lorp  would 
have  said  with  the  late  elegant  Poet : 

"Now  o'er  the  glittering  grass  the  sinewy  Hound 
Shakes  from  his  Feet  the  Dew  and  makes  ye  Woods  resound." 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

"To  be  brief,  we  killed  in  the  Back  Yard  of  ye  Rummer  and  Glass 
after  two  and  three  quarters  Hours  of  a  Hunt  such  as  (all  are 
agreed)  is  not  lightly  to  be  parallelled.  There  was  present  at 
ye  Death,  beside  Joe  Phillips  and  Tom,  Sir  A.  Smoaker,  Mr.  Wm. 
Travis  and  myself,  all  so  extream  distresst,  Men  and  Beasts,  that 
it  was  observed,  it  was  a  Alarvel  ye  Horses  were  not  dead.  Such 
an  Hunt,  it  was  agreed,  should  be  celebrated  by  an  annual  Dinner, 
at  which  the  Toast  of  ye  Chase  might  be  rendered  more  than 
ordinary.  Ye  Hunt  was  upwards  of  Fifteen  Miles  in  Length,  and 
hath  been  the  Subject  of  a  Song,  by  a  Member  of  Ye  Hunt, 
which,  as  it  would  take  long  to  transcribe,  I  forbear,  hoping  that 
we  may  sing  it  to  your  Lorp  before  (as  ye  Poet  says) 

"Ye  vixen  hath  laid  up  her  Cubs 
In  snuggest  Cave  secure,  when  balmy  Spring 
Wakens  ye  Meadows." 

"But  to  pass  now  from  Celestial  Pleasures  to  Worldly  Cares,  I 
have  to  acquaint  your  Lorp  that  your  Lorp's  Sister's  Son,  Mr. 
Parracombe,  hath  been  killed  by  a  Fall  from  his  Horse,  after 
Dinner  with  some  Gentlemen,  his  particular  Friends,  an  Affliction 
indeed  great,  humanly  regarded,  were  it  not  also  considered,  how 
much  happier  his  Lot  must  be,  than  in  this  Vale  of  Tears,  etc. 
Ye  Young  Hounds  thrive  apace,  and  't  is  thought  the  forward 
Season  will  be  very  favourable  for  their  future  Prey.  I  am,  your 
Lorp's  most  obedient,  Charles  Cothill." 

Perhaps  the  ideal  run  of  the  present  time  would  be  described 
as  follows :  - 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

"A  large  field  attended  the  Templecombe  on  Tuesday  last  at 
the  popular  meet  at  Heydigates.  Will  Mynors,  late  of  the  Par- 
ratts,  carried  the  horn,  in  place  of  Tom  Carling,  now  with 
Mr.  Fletchers.  A  little  time  was  spent  in  running  through  the 
shrubberies  in  the  garden  at  Heydigates  and  then  the  word  was 
given  for  the  Cantlows.  Will  had  no  sooner  put  hounds  into 
this  famous  cover  than  the  dog  pack  proclaimed  the  joyous  news. 
The  fox,  a  traveller,  was  at  once  viewed  away  for  the  Three  Oaks, 
across  the  rather  heavy  going  of  the  pasture  land.  Coming  to 
the  Knock  Brook,  he  swam  it  near  Parson's  Pleasure,  going  at 
a  pace  that  let  the  knowing  ones  know  that  they  were  in  for  some- 
thing out  of  the  common.  Keeping  Snib's  Farm  on  his  right,  he 
ran  dead  straight  for  Callow's  Wood,  where  some  woodmen  with 
their  teams  disturbed  him.  Swinging  to  his  left,  he  went  up  the 
hill,  through  Bloody  Lane,  as  though  towards  Dinsmore,  but  was 
again  deflected  by  woodmen.  Turning  down  the  hill,  he  ran 
for  the  valley,  passing  Enderton  Schoolhouse,  the  scholars  of 
which  were  much  cheered  by  the  near  prospect  of  the  hunt.  It 
was  now  evident  that  he  was  going  for  the  Downs.  Some  of 
the  less  daring  began  to  express  the  hope  that  he  might  be  headed. 

"Scent  from  the  first  was  burning  and  the  pace  a  cracker. 
After  leaving  Enderton  he  made  straight  for  the  Danesway,  past 
Snub's  Titch  and  the  Curlews,  the  green  meadows  of  the  pasture 
being  sprinkled  for  miles  with  the  relics  of  the  field.  He  crossed 
the  Roman  Road  at  Orm's  Oak  and  at  once  entered  the  Danes- 
way,  going  at  a  pace  which  all  thought  could  not  last. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

"At  the  summit  of  the  Danesway,  known  as  the  Gallows  Point, 
hounds  were  brought  to  their  noses,  owing  to  the  crossing  of  the 
line  by  sheep.  A  man  working  nearby  was  able  to  give  the  line 
and  Will,  lifting  beyond  the  Lynchets,  at  once  hit  him  off,  and 
the  hounds  resumed  their  rush.  From  this  point,  they  went  almost 
exactly  straight  from  the  head  of  the  Danesway  to  the  fir  copse 
by  Arthur's  Table.  All  this  part  of  the  run  being  across  a  rolling 
grass  land,  was  at  top  speed,  such  as  no  horse  could  live  with. 
At  Arthur's  Table,  he  was  put  from  his  earth  by  shooters  who 
were  netting  the  warren.  As  he  could  not  get  through  them  nor 
across  the  highway,  then  busy  with  traffic,  He  doubled  down  across 
the  Starvings,  where  Will,  the  only  man  up  at  this  point,  although 
now  three  hundred  yards  behind  hounds,  caught  sight  of  him  on 
the  opposite  slope,  romping  away  from  hounds  as  though  he  would 
never  grow  old.  On  coming  to  the  level,  past  Spinney's  End, 
some  of  those  who  had  been  left  at  the  Lynchets  were  able  to 
rejoin,  but  were  soon  again  cast  out  by  the  extreme  violence  of 
the  going,  which  continued  back  across  the  Downs  on  a  line  ob- 
liquely parallel  with  his  former  track  though  a  mile  further  to  the 
south.  It  was  supposed  that  he  was  going  for  the  main  earth 
in  Bloody  Acre  Copse.  Some  workers  in  the  strip  at  the  edge  of 
the  copse  headed  him  from  this  point.  He  swung  left-handed  past 
Staves  acre,  and  so  down  to  the  valley  by  the  shelving  ground 
near  Monk's  Charwell.  Here,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
the  scent,  which  had  been  breast  high,  became  catchy,  and  hounds 
lost  their  fox  in  the  Osier  cars  at  Charwell  Springs.     Later  in  the 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

afternoon,  while  jogging  home,  a  second  fox  was  chopped  in  Mr. 
Parsloe's  cover  at  Prince's  Charwell.     Hounds  then  went  home. 

"The  run  from  the  Cantlows  was  not  remarkable  for  any  quality 
of  hunting,  but  extremely  so  for  pace  and  length.  The  distance 
run,  from  Cantlows  Wood  to  the  Osiers  cannot  have  been  less  than 
thirteen  miles,  most  of  it  indeed  on  the  best  going  in  the  world, 
but  at  a  racing  pace,  with  nothing  that  can  be  called  a  check, 
the  whole  way.  Some  wished  that  the  hounds  might  have  been 
rewarded  and  others  that  Will  Mynors  might  have  crowned  his 
opening  gallop  with  a  kill,  but  the  general  feeling  was  one  of 
satisfaction  that  so  game  a  fox  escaped." 

My  own  interest  in  fox  hunting  began  at  a  very  early  age. 
I  was  born  in  a  good  hunting  country,  partly  woodland,  partly 
pasture.  My  home,  during  my  first  seven  years,  was  within 
half  a  mile  of  the  kennels.  I  saw  hounds  on  most  days  of  my  life. 
Hounds  and  hunting  filled  my  imagination.  I  saw  many  meets, 
each  as  romantic  as  a  circus.  The  huntsman  and  whipper-in 
seemed,  then,  to  be  the  greatest  men  in  the  world,  and  those 
mild  slaves,  the  hounds,  the  loveliest  animals. 

Often,  as  a  little  child,  I  saw  and  heard  hounds  hunting  in  and 
near  a  covert  within  sight  of  my  old  home.  Once,  when  I  was, 
perhaps,  five  years  old,  the  fox  was  hunted  into  our  garden,  and 
those  glorious  beings  in  scarlet,  as  well  as  the  hounds,  were  all 
about  my  lairs,  like  visitants  from  Paradise.  The  fox,  on  this 
occasion,  went  through  a  woodshed  and  escaped. 

Later  in  my  childhood,  though  I  lived  less  near  to  the  kennels, 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

I  was  still  within  a  mile  of  them,  and  saw  hounds  frequently  at 
all  seasons.  In  that  hunting  country,  hunting  was  one  of  the 
interests  of  life;  everybody  knew  about  it,  loved,  followed, 
watched  and  discussed  it.  I  went  to  many  meets,  and  followed 
many  hunts  on  foot.  Each  of  these  occasions  is  now  distinct  in 
my  mind,  with  the  colour  and  intensity  of  beauty.  I  saw  many 
foxes  starting  off  upon  their  runs,  with  the  hounds  close  behind 
them.  It  was  then  that  I  learned  to  admire  the  ease  and  beauty 
of  the  speed  of  the  fresh  fox.  That  leisurely  hurry,  which  romps 
away  from  the  hardest  trained  and  swiftest  fox  hounds  without  a 
visible  effort,  as  though  the  hounds  were  weighted  with  lead, 
is  the  most  lovely  motion  I  have  seen  in  an  animal. 

No  fox  was  the  original  of  my  Reynard,  but  as  I  was  much  in 
the  woods  as  a  boy  I  saw  foxes  fairly  often,  considering  that  they 
are  night-moving  animals.  Their  grace,  beauty,  cleverness,  and 
secrecy  always  thrilled  me.  Then  that  kind  of  grin  which  the 
mask  wears  made  me  credit  them  with  an  almost  human  humour. 
I  thought  the  fox  a  merry  devil,  though  a  bloody  one.  Then  he 
is  one  against  many,  who  keeps  his  end  up,  and  lives,  often  snugly, 
in  spite  of  the  world.  The  pirate  and  the  nightrider  are  nothing 
to  the  fox,  for  romance  and  danger.  This  way  of  life  of  his  makes 
it  difficult  to  observe  him  in  a  free  state  at  close  quarters. 

Once  in  the  early  spring  in  the  very  early  morning,  I  saw  a 
vixen  playing  with  her  cubs  in  the  open  space  below  a  beech  tree. 
Once  I  came  upon  a  big  dog-fox  in  a  wheel-wright's  yard,  and 
watched  him  from  within  a  few  paces  for  some  minutes.     Twice 


INTRODUCTION  xvil 

I  have  watched  half-grown  cubs  stalking  rabbits.  Twice  out  hunt- 
ing, the  fox  has  broken  cover  within  three  yards  of  me.  These  are 
the  only  free  foxes  which  I  have  seen  at  close  quarters.  Foxes 
are  night-moving  animals.  To  know  them  well  one  should  have 
cat's  eyes  and  foxes'  habits.  By  the  imagination  alone  can  men 
know  foxes. 

When  I  was  about  halfway  through  my  poem,  I  found  a  dead 
dog-fox  in  a  field  near  Cumnor  Hurst.  He  was  a  fine  full-grown 
fox  in  perfect  condition ;  he  must  have  picked  up  poison,  for  he 
had  not  been  hunted,  nor  shot.  On  the  pads  of  this  dead  fox,  I 
noticed  for  the  first  time,  the  length  and  strength  of  a  fox's  claws. 

Some  have  asked,  whether  the  Ghost  Heath  Run  is  founded  on 
any  recorded  run  of  any  real  Hunt.  It  is  not.  It  is  an  imaginary 
run,  in  a  country  made  up  of  many  different  pieces  of  country, 
some  of  them  real,  some  of  them  imaginary.  These  real  and 
imaginary  fields,  woods  and  brooks  are  taken  as  they  exist,  from 
Berkshire,  where  the  fox  lives,  from  Herefordshire  where  he  was 
found,  from  Trapalanda,  Gloucestershire,  Buckinghamshire,  Here- 
fordshire, Worcestershire  and  Berkshire,  where  he  ran,  from  Trap- 
alanda, where  he  nearly  died,  and  from  a  wild  and  beautiful 
corner  in  Berkshire  where  he  rests  from  his  run. 

Some  have  asked  when  the  poem  was  written.  It  was  written 
between  January  i  and  May  20,  1919. 

Some  have  asked,  whether  hunting  will  soon  be  abolished. 
I  cannot  tell,  but  I  think  it  unlikely.  People  do  not  willingly 
resign  their  pleasures;    men  who  breed  horses  will  want  to  gallop 


xvlii  INTRODUCTION 

them  across  country;  hunting  is  a  pleasure,  as  well  as  an  oppor- 
tunity to  gallop ;  it  is  also  an  instinct  in  man.  Some  have  thought 
that  if  "small  holdings,"  that  is  "produce  gardens,"  intensively 
cultivated,  of  about  an  acre  apiece,  became  common,  so  that  the 
country  became  more  rigidly  enclosed  than  at  present,  hunting 
would  be  made  almost  impossible.  The  small  holding  is  generally 
the  property  of  the  small  farmer  (like  the  French  cultivateur)  who 
fences  permanently  with  wire  and  cannot  take  down  the  wire 
during  the  hunting  season,  as  most  English  farmers  do  at  present. 
Small  holdings  will  probably  increase  in  number  near  towns,  but 
farmers  seem  agreed  that  they  can  never  become  the  national 
system  of  farming.  The  big  farm,  that  can  treat  the  great  tract 
with  machines,  seems  likely  to  be  the  farm  of  the  future. 

Even  if  the  small  holdings  system  were  to  prevail,  it  would 
hardly  prevail  over  the  sporting  instincts  of  the  race.  Beauty 
and  delight  are  stronger  than  the  will  to  work.  I  am  pretty  sure 
that  a  pack  of  hounds,  coming  feathery  by,  at  the  heels  of  a  whip's 
horse,  while  the  field  takes  station  and  the  huntsman,  drawing 
his  horn,  prepares  to  hunt,  would  shake  the  resolve  of  most  small 
holders,  digging  in  their  lots  with  thrift,  industry  and  self-control. 
And  then,  if  the  huntsman  were  to  blow  his  horn,  and  the  hounds 
to  featheV  on  it  and  give  tongue,  and  find,  and  go  away  at  head, 
I  am  pretty  sure  that  most  of  the  small  holders  of  this  race  would 
follow  them.     It  is  in  this  race  to  hunt. 

I  will  conclude  with  a  portrait  of  old  Baldy  Hill,  the  earth- 
stopper,  who  in  the  darkness  of  the  early  morning  gads  about  on 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

a  pony,  to  "stop"  or  "put  to"  all  earths,  in  which  a  hard-pressed 

fox  might  hide.     In  the  poem,  he  enters  when  the  hunt  is  about 

to  start,  but  he  is  an  important  figure  in  a  hunting  community, 

and  deserves  a  portrait.     He  may  come  here,  at  the  beginning, 

for  Baldy  Hill  is  at  the  beginning  of  all  fox  hunts.     He  dates  from 

the  beginning  of  Man.     I  have  seen  many  a  Baldy  Hill  in  my  life; 

he  never  fails  to  give  me  the  feeling   that   he  is  Primitive  Man 

survived.     Primitive  Man  lived  like  that,  in  the  woods,  in  the 

darkness,  outwitting  the  wild  things,  while  the  rain  dripped,  and 

the  owl  cried,  and  the  ghost  came  out  from  the  grave.     Baldy 

Hill  stole  the  last  litter  of  the  last  she-wolf  to  cross  them  with  the 

King's  hounds.     He  was  in  at  the  death  of  the  last  wild-boar. 

Sometimes,  in  looking  at  him,  I  think  that  his  ashen  stake  must 

have  a  flint  head,  with  which,  on  moony  nights,  he  still  creeps 

out,  to  rouse,  it  may  be,  the  mammoth  in  his  secret  valley,  or 

a  sabretooth  tiger,  still  caved  in  the  woods.     Life  may  and  does 

shoot  out  into  exotic  forms,  which  may  and  do  flower  and  perish. 

Perhaps  when  all  the  other  forms  of  English  life  are  gone,  the 

Baldy  Hill  form,  the  stock  form,  will  abide,  still  striding,  head 

bent,  with  an  ashen  stake,  after  some  wild  thing,  that  has  meat, 

or  fur,  or  is  difficult  or  dangerous  to  tackle. 

Old  Baldy  Hill,  the  game  old  cock. 

Still  wore  knee-gaiters  and  a  smock. 

He  bore  a  five  foot  ashen  stick 

All  scarred  and  pilled  from  many  a  click 

Beating  in  covert  with  his  sons 

To  drive  the  pheasants  to  the  guns. 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

His  face  was  beaten  by  the  weather 
To  wrinkled  red  like  bellows  leather 
He  had  a  cold  clear  hard  blue  eye. 
His  snares  made  many  a  rabbit  die. 
On  moony  nights  he  found  it  pleasant 
To  stare  the  woods  for  roosting  pheasant 
Up  near  the  tree-trunk  on  the  bough. 

He  never  trod  behind  a  plough. 
He  and  his  two  sons  got  their  food 
From  wild  things  in  the  field  and  wood, 
By  snares,  by  ferrets  put  in  holes, 
By  ridding  pasture-land  of  moles; 
By  keeping,  beating,  trapping,  poaching 
And  spaniel-and-retriever-coaching. 

He  and  his  sons  had  special  merits 

In  breeding  and  in  handling  ferrets 

Full  many  a  snaky  hob  and  jill 

Had  bit  the  thumbs  of  Baldy  Hill. 

He  had  no  beard,  but  long  white  hair. 

He  bent  in  gait.     He  used  to  wear 

Flowers  in  his  smock,  gold-clocks  and  peasen ; 

And  spindle-fruit  in  hunting  season. 

I  hope  that  he  may  Hve  to  wear  spindle-fruit  for  many  seasons 
to  come.  Hunting  maices  more  people  happy  than  anything  I 
know.  When  people  are  happy  together,  I  am  quite  certain 
that  they  build  up  something  eternal,  something  both  beautiful 
and  divine,  which  weakens  the  power  of  all  evil  things  upon  this 
life  of  men  and  women. 


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PART  I 


THE  MEET 


REYNARD   THE    FOX, 

OR 

THE  GHOST  HEATH  RUN 

The  meet  was  at  "The  Cock  and  Pye 
By  Charles  and  Martha  Enderby," 
The  grey,  three-hundred-year-old  inn 
Long  since  the  haunt  of  Benjamin 
The  highwayman,  who  rode  the  bay. 
The  tavern  fronts  the  coaching  way, 
The  mail  changed  horses  there  of  old. 
It  has  a  strip  of  grassy  mould 
In  front  of  it,  a  broad  green  strip. 
A  trough,  where  horses'  muzzles  dip. 
Stands  opposite  the  tavern  front, 


4  REYNARD  THE   FOX 

And  there  that  morning  came  the  hunt, 
To  fill  that  quiet  width  of  road 
As  full  of  men  as  Framilode 
Is  full  of  sea  when  tide  is  in. 

The  stables  were  alive  with  din 

From  dawn  until  the  time  of  meeting. 

A  pad-groom  gave  a  cloth  a  beating, 

Knocking  the  dust  out  with  a  stake. 

Two  men  cleaned  stalls  with  fork  and  rake. 

And  one  went  whistling  to  the  pump. 

The  handle  whined,  ker-lump,  ker-lump. 

The  water  splashed  into  the  pail. 

And,  as  he  went,  it  left  a  trail. 

Lipped  over  on  the  yard's  bricked  paving. 

Two  grooms  (sent  on  before)  were  shaving 


The  stables  were  alive  with  din 
From  dawn  until  the  time  of  meeting. 


REYNARD  THE   FOX 
There  in  the  yard,  at  glasses  propped 
On  jutting  bricks ;   they  scraped  and  stropped, 
And  felt  their  chins  and  leaned  and  peered, 
A  woodland  day  was  what  they  feared 
(As  second  horsemen),  shaving  there. 
Then,  in  the  stalls  where  hunters  were. 
Straw  rustled  as  the  horses  shifted, 
The  hayseeds  ticked  and  haystraws  drifted 
From  racks  as  horses  tugged  their  feed. 
Slow  gulping  sounds  of  steady  greed 
Came  from  each  stall,  and  sometimes  stampings. 
Whinnies  (at  well-known  steps)  and  rampings 
To  see  the  horse  in  the  next  stall. 

Outside,  the  spangled  cock  did  call 
To  scattering  grain  that  Martha  flung. 


REYNARD  THE  FOX 
And  many  a  time  a  mop  was  wrung 
By  Susan  ere  the  floor  was  clean. 
The  harness  room,  that  busy  scene, 
Clinked  and  chinked  from  ostlers  brightening 
Rings  and  bits  with  dips  of  whitening, 
Rubbing  fox-flecks  out  of  stirrups, 
Dumbing  buckles  of  their  chirrups 
By  the  touch  of  oily  feathers. 
Some,  with  stag's  bones  rubbed  at  leathers, 
Brushed  at  saddle-flaps  or  hove 
Saddle  linings  to  the  stove. 
Blue  smoke  from  strong  tobacco  drifted 
Out  of  the  yard,  the  passers  snifft  it. 
Mixed  with  the  strong  ammonia  flavour 
Of  horses'  stables  and  the  savour 
Of  saddle-paste  and  polish  spirit 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Which  put  the  gleam  on  flap  and  tirrit. 
The  grooms  in  shirts  with  roUed-up  sleeves, 
Belted  by  girths  of  coloured  weaves, 
Groomed  the  clipped  hunters  in  their  stalls. 
One  said,  "My  dad  cured  saddle  galls. 
He  called  it  Doctor  Barton's  cure ; 
Hog's  lard  and  borax,  laid  on  pure." 
And  others  said,  "Ge'  back,  my  son," 


REYNARD   THE   FOX 
"Stand  over,  girl;   now,  girl,  ha'  done." 
"Now,  boy,  no  snapping;   gently.     Crikes, 
He  gives  a  rare  pinch  when  he  likes." 
"Drawn  blood  ?     I  thought  he  looked  a  biter." 
"I  give  'em  all  sweet  spit  of  nitre 
For  that,  myself:    that  sometimes  cures." 
"Now,  Beauty,  mind  them  feet  of  yours." 
They  groomed,  and  sissed  with  hissing  notes 
To  keep  the  dust  out  of  their  throats. 

There  came  again  and  yet  again 
The  feed-box  lid,  the  swish  of  grain. 
Or  Joe's  boots  stamping  in  the  loft. 
The  hay-fork's  stab  and  then  the  soft 
Hay's  scratching  slither  down  the  shoot. 
Then  with  a  thud  some  horse's  foot 


lo  REYNARD  THE   FOX 

Stamped,  and  the  gulping  munch  again 
Resumed  its  lippings  at  the  grain. 

The  road  outside  the  inn  was  quiet 

Save  for  the  poor,  mad,  restless  pyat 

Hopping  his  hanging  wicker-cage. 

No  calmative  of  sleep  or  sage 

Will  cure  the  fever  to  be  free. 

He  shook  the  wicker  ceaselessly 

Now  up,  now  down,  but  never  out 

On  wind-waves,  being  blown  about, 

Looking  for  dead  things  good  to  eat. 

His  cage  was  strewn  with  scattered  wheat. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  Doctor's  lad 
Brought  up  his  master's  hunting  pad 


REYNARD  THE   FOX  II 

And  put  him  in  a  stall,  and  leaned 
Against  the  stall,  and  sissed,  and  cleaned 
The  port  and  cannons  of  his  curb. 
He  chewed  a  sprig  of  smelling  herb. 
He  sometimes  stopped,  and  spat,  and  chid 
The  silly  things  his  master  did. 


THE  PLOUGH^IAN 


13 


At  twenty  past,  old  Baldock  strode 
His  ploughman's  straddle  down  the  road. 
An  old  man  with  a  gaunt,  burnt  face ; 
His  eyes  rapt  back  on  some  far  place, 
Like  some  starved,  half-mad  saint  in  bliss 
In  God's  world  through  the  rags  of  this. 
He  leaned  upon  a  stake  of  ash 
Cut  from  a  sapling :   many  a  gash 
Was  in  his  old,  full-skirted  coat. 
The  twisted  muscles  in  his  throat 
Moved,  as  he  swallowed,  like  taut  cord. 
His  oaken  face  was  seamed  and  gored. 

He  halted  by  the  inn  and  stared 

15 


An  old  man  with  a  gaunt,  burnt  face; 
His  eyes  rapt  back  on  some  far  place. 


REYNARD   THE   FOX  \^ 

On  that  far  bliss,  that  place  prepared 
Beyond  his  eyes,  beyond  his  mind. 

Then  Thomas  Copp,  of  Cowfoot's  Wynd, 
Drove  up ;    and  stopped  to  take  a  glass. 
"I  hope  they'll  gallop  on  my  grass," 
He  said,  "My  little  girl  does  sing 
To  see  the  red  coats  galloping. 
It's  good  for  grass,  too,  to  be  trodden 
Except  they  poach  it,  where  it's  sodden." 
Then  Billy  Waldrist,  from  the  Lynn, 

With  Jockey  Hill,  from  Pitts,  came  in 
And  had  a  sip  of  gin  and  stout 
To  help  the  jockey's  sweatings  out. 

"Rare  day  for  scent,"  the  jockey  said. 


18  REYNARD  THE   FOX 

A  pony,  like  a  feather  bed 
On  four  short  sticks,  took  place  aside. 
The  little  girl  who  rode  astride 
Watched  everything  with  eyes  that  glowed 
With  glory  in  the  horse  she  rode. 

At  half-past  ten,  some  lads  on  foot 

Came  to  be  beaters  to  a  shoot 

Of  rabbits  at  the  Warren  Hill. 

Rough  sticks  they  had,  and  Hob  and  Jill, 

Their  ferrets,  in  a  bag,  and  netting. 

They  talked  of  dinner-beer  and  betting ; 

And  jeered  at  those  who  stood  around. 

They  rolled  their  dogs  upon  the  ground 

And  teased  them:  "Rats,"  they  cried;  "go  fetch." 

"Go  seek,  good  Roxer;    'z  bite,  good  betch. 


•AN    1)1, 11    .MAN    WI'IH    A    GAUNT,    KURNT   FACE, 
HIS  EYES   RAPT   BACK  ON   SOME   FAR   PLACE." 


REYNARD  THE  FOX  19 

What  dinner-beer'U  they  give  us,  lad  ? 
Sex  quarts  the  lot  last  year  we  had. 
They'd  ought  to  give  us  seven  this. 
Seek,  Susan ;   what  a  betch  it  is." 


THE  CLERGYMAN 


21 


A  pommle  cob  came  trotting  up, 

Round-bellied  like  a  drlnking-cup, 

Bearing  on  back  a  pommle  man 

Round-bellied  like  a  drinking-can. 

The  clergyman  from  Condicote. 
23 


24  REYNARD  THE   FOX 

His  face  was  scarlet  from  his  trot, 
His  white  hair  bobbed  about  his  head 
As  halos  do  round  clergy  dead. 
He  asked  Tom  Copp,  "How  long  to  wait  ?" 
His  loose  mouth  opened  like  a  gate 
To  pass  the  wagons  of  his  speech, 
He  had  a  mighty  voice  to  preach, 
Though  indolent  in  other  matters, 
He  let  his  children  go  in  tatters. 

His  daughter  Madge  on  foot,  flushed-cheekt. 

In  broken  hat  and  boots  that  leakt. 

With  bits  of  hay  all  over  her. 

Her  plain  face  grinning  at  the  stir 

(A  broad  pale  face,  snub-nosed,  with  speckles 

Of  sandy  eyebrows  sprinkt  with  freckles) 


IHREE   MEN   CAME   RIUING   IN   A   ROW. 


REYNARD  THE  FOX  25 

Came  after  him  and  stood  apart 
Beside  the  darling  of  her  heart, 
Miss  Hattie  Dyce  from  Baydon  Dean ; 
A  big  young  fair  one,  chiselled  clean, 
Brow,  chin,  and  nose,  with  great  blue  eyes, 
All  innocence  and  sweet  surprise. 
And  golden  hair  piled  coil  on  coil 
Too  beautiful  for  time  to  spoil. 
They  talked  in  undertones  together 
Not  of  the  hunting,  nor  the  weather. 
Old  Steven,  from  Scratch  Steven  Place 
(A  white  beard  and  a  rosy  face), 
Came  next  on  his  stringhalty  grey, 
"I've  come  to  see  the  hounds  away," 
He  said,  "And  ride  a  field  or  two. 
We  old  have  better  things  to  do 


26 


REYNARD   THE    FOX 


Than  breaking  all  our  necks  for  fun." 
He  shone  on  people  like  the  sun, 
And  on  himself  for  shining  so. 
Three  men  came  riding  in  a  row  :  — 
John  Pyn,  a  bull-man,  quick  to  strike, 
Gross  and  blunt-headed  like  a  shrike 
Yet  sweet-voiced  as  a  piping  flute ; 
Tom  See,  the  trainer,  from  the  Toot, 


REYNARD  THE   FOX  27 

Red,  with  an  angry,  puzzled  face 
And  mouth  twitched  upward  out  of  place. 
Sucking  cheap  grapes  and  spitting  seeds ; 
And  Stone,  of  Bartle's  Cattle  Feeds, 
A  man  whose  bulk  of  flesh  and  bone 
Made  people  call  him  Twenty  Stone. 
He  was  the  man  who  stood  a  pull 
At  Tencombe  with  the  Jersey  bull 
And  brought  the  bull  back  to  his  stall. 

Some  children  ranged  the  tavern-wall, 
Sucking  their  thumbs  and  staring  hard ; 
Some  grooms  brought  horses  from  the  yard. 
Jane  Selbie  said  to  Ellen  Tranter, 
"A  lot  on  'em  come  doggin',  ant  her  ?" 
"A  lot  on  'em,"  said  Ellen,  "look 


28  REYNARDTHEFOX 

There'm  Mister  Gaunt  of  Water's  Hook. 
They  say  he"  .  .  .  (whispered).     "Law,"  said  Jane. 
Gaunt  flung  his  heel  across  the  mane, 
And  sHthered  from  his  horse  and  stamped. 
"Boots  tight,"  he  said,  "my  feet  are  cramped." 

A  loose-shod  horse  came  clicking  clack ; 

Nick  Wolvesey  on  a  hired  hack 

Came  tittup,  like  a  cup  and  ball. 

One  saw  the  sun,  moon,  stars,  and  all 

The  great  green  earth  twixt  him  and  saddle ; 

Then  Molly  Wolvesey  riding  straddle, 

Red  as  a  rose,  with  eyes  like  sparks. 

Two  boys  from  college  out  for  larks 

Hunted  bright  Molly  for  a  smile 

But  were  not  worth  their  quarry's  while. 


REYNARD  THE   FOX  29 

Two  eyeglassed  gunners  dressed  in  tweed 
Came  with  a  spaniel  on  a  lead 
And  waited  for  a  fellow  gunner. 
The  parson's  son,  the  famous  runner, 
Came  dressed  to  follow  hounds  on  foot. 
His  knees  were  red  as  yew  tree  root 
From  being  bare,  day  in  day  out ; 
He  wore  a  blazer,  and  a  clout 
(His  sweater's  arms)  tied  round  his  neck. 
His  football  shorts  had  many  a  speck 
And  splash  of  mud  from  many  a  fall 
Got  as  he  picked  the  slippery  ball 
Heeled  out  behind  a  breaking  scrum. 
He  grinned  at  people,  but  was  dumb, 
Not  like  these  lousy  foreigners. 
The  otter-hounds  and  harriers 
From  Godstow  to  the  Wye  all  knew  him. 


THE  PARSON 


31 


And  with  him  came  the  stock  which  grew  him  ■ 

The  parson  and  his  sporting  wife, 

She  was  a  stout  one,  full  of  life 

With  red,  quick,  kindly,  manly  face. 

She  held  the  knave,  queen,  king,  and  ace 

In  every  hand  she  played  with  men. 

She  was  no  sister  to  the  hen. 

But  fierce  and  minded  to  be  queen. 

She  wore  a  coat  and  skirt  of  green, 

Her  waistcoat  cut  of  bunting  red, 

Her  tie  pin  was  a  fox's  head. 

The  parson  was  a  manly  one, 

His  jolly  eyes  were  bright  with  fun. 

D  33 


34  REYNARD  THE  FOX 

His  jolly  mouth  was  well  inclined 
To  cry  aloud  his  jolly  mind 
To  everyone,  in  jolly  terms. 
He  did  not  talk  of  churchyard  worms, 
But  of  our  privilege  as  dust 
To  box  a  lively  bout  with  lust 
Ere  going  to  Heaven  to  rejoice. 
He  loved  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 
His  talk  was  like  a  charge  of  horse ; 
His  build  was  all  compact,  for  force. 
Well-knit,  well-made,  well-coloured,  eager, 
He  kept  no  Lent  to  make  him  meagre. 
He  loved  his  God,  himself  and  man. 
He  never  said  "Life's  wretched  span; 
This  wicked  world,"  in  any  sermon. 
This  body,  that  we  feed  the  worm  on, 


REYNARD  THE  FOX  35 

To  him,  was  jovial  stuff  that  thrilled. 

He  liked  to  see  the  foxes  killed ; 

But  most  he  felt  himself  in  clover 

To  hear  "Hen  left,  hare  right,  cock  over," 

At  woodside,  when  the  leaves  are  brown. 

Some  grey  cathedral  in  a  town 

Where  drowsy  bells  toll  out  the  time 

To  shaven  closes  sweet  with  lime, 

And  wall-flower  roots  drive  out  of  the  mortar 

All  summer  on  the  Norman  Dortar, 

Was  certain  some  day  to  be  his. 

Nor  would  a  mitre  go  amiss 

To  him,  because  he  governed  well. 

His  voice  was  like  the  tenor  bell 

When  services  were  said  and  sung. 

And  he  had  read  in  many  a  tongue, 

Arabic,  Hebrew,  Spanish,  Greek. 


"JILL  AND  JOAN 


37 


Two  bright  young  women,  nothing  meek, 

Rode  up  on  bicycles  and  propped 

Their  wheels  in  such  wise  that  they  dropped 

To  bring  the  parson's  son  to  aid. 

Their  cycling  suits  were  tailor-made, 

Smart,  mannish,  pert,  but  feminine. 

The  colour  and  the  zest  of  wine 

Were  in  their  presence  and  their  bearing ; 

Like  spring,  they  brought  the  thought  of  pairing. 

The  parson's  lady  thought  them  pert. 

And  they  could  mock  a  man  and  flirt. 

Do  billiard  tricks  with  corks  and  pennies. 

Sing  ragtime  songs  and  win  at  tennis 

The  silver-cigarette-case-prize. 

39 


40  REYNARD  THE  FOX 

They  had  good  colour  and  bright  eyes, 
Bright  hair,  bright  teeth  and  pretty  skin. 
On  darkened  stairways  after  dances, 
Which  many  lads  had  longed  to  win. 
Their  reading  was  the  last  romances. 
And  they  were  dashing  hockey  players. 
Men  called  them,  "Jill  and  Joan,  the  slayers." 
They  were  as  bright  as  fresh  sweet-peas. 


FARMER  BENNETT 


41 


Old  Farmer  Bennett  followed  these 
Upon  his  big-boned  savage  black 
Whose  mule-teeth  yellowed  to  bite  back 
Whatever  came  within  his  reach. 
Old  Bennett  sat  him  like  a  leech. 

43 


44  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

The  grim  old  rider  seemed  to  be 
As  hard  about  the  mouth  as  he. 

The  beaters  nudged  each  other's  ribs 

With  "There  he  goes,  his  bloody  Nibs. 

He  come  on  Joe  and  Anty  Cop, 

And  beat  'em  with  his  hunting  crop 

Like  tho'  they'd  bin  a  sack  of  beans. 

His  pickers  were  a  pack  of  queans, 

And  Joe  and  Anty  took  a  couple, 

He  caught  'em  there,  and  banged  'em  supple. 

Women  and  men,  he  didn't  care 

(He'd  kill  'em  some  day,  if  he  dare). 

He  beat  the  whole  four  nearly  dead. 

'I'll  learn  'ee  rabbit  in  my  shed. 

That's  how  my  ricks  get  set  afire.' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  45 

That's  what  he  said,  the  bloody  liar ; 
Old  oaf,  I'd  like  to  burn  his  ricks, 
Th'  old  swine's  too  free  with  fists  and  sticks. 
He  keeps  that  Mrs.  Jones  himselve." 

Just  like  an  axehead  on  its  helve 

Old  Bennett  sat  and  watched  the  gathering. 

He'd  given  many  a  man  a  lathering 

In  field  or  barn,  and  women,  too. 

His  cold  eye  reached  the  women  through 

With  comment,  and  the  men  with  scorn. 

He  hated  women  gently  born ; 

He  hated  all  beyond  his  grasp  ; 

For  he  was  minded  like  the  asp 

That  strikes  whatever  is  not  dust. 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE 


47 


Charles  Copse,  of  Copse  Hold  Manor,  thrust 

Next  into  view.     In  face  and  limb 

The  beauty  and  the  grace  of  him 

Were  like  the  golden  age  returned. 

His  grave  eyes  steadily  discerned 

The  good  in  men  and  what  was  wise. 

He  had  deep  blue,  mild-coloured  eyes, 

And  shocks  of  harvest-coloured  hair, 

Still  beautiful  with  youth.     An  air 

Or  power  of  kindness  went  about  him ; 

No  heart  of  youth  could  ever  doubt  him 

Or  fail  to  follow  where  he  led. 

He  was  a  genius,  simply  bred. 

And  quite  unconscious  of  his  power. 

E  49 


50  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  was  the  very  red  rose  flower 
Of  all  that  coloured  countryside. 
Gauchos  had  taught  him  how  to  ride. 
He  knew  all  arts,  but  practised  most 
The  art  of  bettering  flesh  and  ghost 
In  men  and  lads  down  in  the  mud. 
He  knew  no  class  in  flesh  and  blood. 
He  loved  his  kind.     He  spent  some  pith 
Long  since,  relieving  Ladysmith. 
Many  a  horse  he  trotted  tame. 
Heading  commandos  from  their  aim, 
In  those  old  days  upon  the  veldt. 


THE  SQUIRE 


SI 


An  old  bear  in  a  scarlet  pelt 
Came  next,  old  Squire  Harridew, 
His  eyebrows  gave  a  man  the  grue 
So  bushy  and  so  fierce  they  were ; 
He  had  a  bitter  tongue  to  swear. 
A  fierce,  hot,  hard,  old,  stupid  squire, 

S3 


54  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

With  all  his  liver  made  of  fire, 
Small  brain,  great  courage,  mulish  will. 
The  hearts  in  all  his  house  stood  still 
When  someone  crossed  the  squire's  path. 
For  he  was  terrible  in  wrath, 
And  smashed  whatever  came  to  hand. 
Two  things  he  failed  to  understand. 
The  foreigner  and  what  was  new. 

His  daughters,  Carrie,  Jane  and  Lu, 
Rode  with  him,  Carrie  at  his  side. 
His  son,  the  ne'er-do-weel,  had  died 
In  Arizona,  long  before. 
The  Squire  set  the  greatest  store 
By  Carrie,  youngest  of  the  three. 
And  lovely  to  the  blood  was  she ; 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  55 

Blonde,  with  a  face  of  blush  and  cream, 
And  eyes  deep  violet  in  their  gleam. 
Bright  blue  when  quiet  in  repose. 
She  was  a  very  golden  rose. 
And  many  a  man  when  sunset  came 
Would  see  the  manor  windows  flame. 
And  think,  "My  beauty's  home  is  there." 
Queen  Helen  had  less  golden  hair, 
Queen  Cleopatra  paler  lips. 
Queen  Blanche's  eyes  were  in  eclipse, 
By  golden  Carrie's  glancing  by. 
She  had  a  wit  for  mockery 
And  sang  mild,  pretty  senseless  songs 
Of  sunsets,  Heav'n  and  lover's  wrongs. 
Sweet  to  the  Squire  when  he  had  dined. 
A  rosebud  need  not  have  a  mind. 


56  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

A  lily  is  not  sweet  from  learning. 
Jane  looked  like  a  dark  lantern,  burning. 
Outwardly  dark,  unkempt,  uncouth, 
But  minded  like  the  living  truth, 
A  friend  that  nothing  shook  nor  wearied. 
She  was  not  "Darling  Jan'd,"  nor  "dearie'd," 
She  was  all  prickles  to  the  touch, 
So  sharp,  that  many  feared  to  clutch, 
So  keen,  that  many  thought  her  bitter. 
She  let  the  little  sparrows  twitter. 
She  had  a  hard  ungracious  way. 
Her  storm  of  hair  was  iron-grey, 
And  she  was  passionate  in  her  heart 
For  women's  souls  that  burn  apart. 
Just  as  her  mother's  had,  with  Squire. 
She  gave  the  sense  of  smouldering  fire. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  57 

She  was  not  happy  being  a  maid, 
At  home,  with  Squire,  but  she  stayed 
Enduring  life,  however  bleak, 
To  guard  her  sisters  who  were  weak. 
And  force  a  life  for  them  from  Squire. 
And  she  had  roused  and  stood  his  fire 
A  hundred  times,  and  earned  his  hate, 
To  win  those  two  a  better  state. 
Long  years  before  the  Canon's  son 
Had  cared  for  her,  but  he  had  gone 
To  Klondyke,  to  the  mines,  for  gold, 
To  find,  in  some  strange  way  untold 
A  foreign  grave  that  no  men  knew. 

No  depth,  nor  beauty,  was  in  Lu, 
But  charm  and  fun,  for  she  was  merry, 


58  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Round,  sweet  and  little  like  a  cherry, 
With  laughter  like  a  robin's  singing ; 
She  was  not  kittenlike  and  clinging, 
But  pert  and  arch  and  fond  of  flirting, 
In  mocking  ways  that  were  not  hurting, 
And  merry  ways  that  women  pardoned. 
Not  being  married  yet  she  gardened. 
She  loved  sweet  music ;    she  would  sing 
Songs  made  before  the  German  King 
Made  England  German  in  her  mind. 
She  sang  "My  lady  is  unkind," 
"The  Hunt  is  up,"  and  those  sweet  things 
Which  Thomas  Campion  set  to  strings, 
"Thrice  toss,"  and  "What,"  and  "Where 
are  now?" 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  59 

The  next  to  come  was  Major  Howe 
Driv'n  in  a  dog-cart  by  a  groom. 
The  testy  major  was  in  fume 
To  find  no  hunter  standing  waiting ; 
The  groom  who  drove  him  caught  a  rating, 
The  groom  who  had  the  horse  in  stable, 
Was  damned  in  half  the  tongues  of  Babel. 
The  Major  being  hot  and  heady 
When  horse  or  dinner  was  not  ready. 
He  was  a  lean,  tough,  liverish  fellow. 
With  pale  blue  eyes  (the  whites  pale  yellow), 
Mustache  clipped  toothbrush-wise,  and  jaws 
Shaved  bluish  like  old  partridge  claws. 
When  he  had  stripped  his  coat  he  made 
A  speckless  presence  for  parade. 
New  pink,  white  cords,  and  glossy  tops 


6o  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

New  gloves,  the  newest  thing  in  crops, 
Worn  with  an  air  that  well  expressed 
His  sense  that  no  one  else  was  dressed. 


THE  DOCTOR 


6i 


Quick  trotting  after  Major  Howe 

Came  Doctor  Frome  of  Quickemshow, 

A  smiling  silent  man  whose  brain 

Knew  all  of  every  secret  pain 

In  every  man  and  woman  there. 
63 


64  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Their  inmost  lives  were  all  laid  bare 
To  him,  because  he  touched  their  lives 
When  strong  emotions  sharp  as  knives 
Brought  out  what  sort  of  soul  each  was. 
As  secret  as  the  graveyard  grass 
He  was,  as  he  had  need  to  be. 
At  some  time  he  had  had  to  see 
Each  person  there,  sans  clothes,  sans  mask, 
Sans  lying  even,  when  to  ask 
Probed  a  tamed  spirit  into  truth. 
Richard,  his  son,  a  jolly  youth 
Rode  with  him,  fresh  from  Thomas's, 
As  merry  as  a  yearling  is 
In  maytime  in  a  clover  patch. 
He  was  a  gallant  chick  to  hatch 
Big,  brown  and  smiling,  blithe  and  kind, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  65 

With  all  his  father's  love  of  mind 
And  greater  force  to  give  it  act. 
To  see  him  when  the  scrum  was  packt, 
Heave,  playing  forward,  was  a  sight. 
His  tackling  was  the  crowd's  delight 
In  many  a  danger  close  to  goal. 
The  pride  in  the  three  quarter's  soul 
Dropped,  like  a  wet  rag,  when  he  collared. 
He  was  as  steady  as  a  bollard. 
And  gallant  as  a  skysail  yard. 
He  rode  a  chestnut  mare  which  sparred. 
In  good  St.  Thomas'  Hospital, 
He  was  the  crown  imperial 
Of  all  the  scholars  of  his  year. 

The  Harold  lads,  from  Tencombe  Weir, 
Came  all  on  foot  in  corduroys, 


66  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Poor  widowed  Mrs.  Harold's  boys, 
Dick,  Hal  and  Charles,  whose  father  died. 
(Will  Masemore  shot  him  in  the  side 
By  accident  at  Masemore  Farm. 
A  hazel  knocked  Will  Masemore's  arm 
In  getting  through  a  hedge ;    his  gun 
Was  not  half-cocked,  so  it  was  done 
And  those  three  boys  left  fatherless.) 
Their  gaitered  legs  were  in  a  mess 
With  good  red  mud  from  twenty  ditches 
Hal's  face  was  plastered  like  his  breeches, 
Dick  chewed  a  twig  of  juniper. 
They  kept  at  distance  from  the  stir 
Their  loss  had  made  them  lads  apart. 
Next  came  the  Colway's  pony  cart 
From  Coin  St.  Evelyn's  with  the  party. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  dj 

Hugh  Colway  jovial,  bold  and  hearty, 
And  Polly  Colway's  brother,  John 
(Their  horses  had  been  both  sent  on) 
And  Polly  Colway  drove  them  there. 
Poor  pretty  Polly  Colway's  hair. 
The  grey  mare  killed  her  at  the  brook 
Down  Seven  Springs  Mead  at  Water  Hook, 
Just  one  month  later,  poor  sweet  woman. 


THE  SAILOR 


69 


Her  brother  was  a  rat-faced  Roman, 

Lean,  puckered,  tight-skinned  from  the  sea, 

Commander  in  the  Canace, 

Able  to  drive  a  horse,  or  ship. 

Or  crew  of  men,  without  a  whip 

By  will,  as  long  as  they  could  go. 

His  face  would  wrinkle,  row  on  row. 

From  mouth  to  hair-roots  when  he  laught 

He  looked  ahead  as  though  his  craft 

Were  with  him  still,  in  dangerous  channels. 

He  and  Hugh  Colway  tossed  their  flannels 

Into  the  pony-cart  and  mounted. 

Six  foiled  attempts  the  watchers  counted, 

71 


72  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

The  horses  being  bickering  things, 
That  so  much  scariet  made  like  kings, 
Such  sidling  and  such  pawing  and  shifting. 


THE  MERCtL\NT'S   SON 


73 


When  Hugh  was  up  his  mare  went  drifting 

Sidelong  and  feeling  with  her  heels 

For  horses'  legs  and  poshay  wheels, 

While  lather  creamed  her  neat  dipt  skin. 

Hugh  guessed  her  foibles  with  a  grin. 

He  was  a  rich  town-merchant's  son, 

A  wise  and  kind  man  fond  of  fun. 

Who  loved  to  have  a  troop  of  friends 

At  Coin  St.  Eves  for  all  week-ends. 

And  troops  of  children  in  for  tea. 

He  gloried  in  a  Christmas  Tree. 

And  Polly  was  his  heart's  best  treasure, 

And  Polly  was  a  golden  pleasure 

To  everyone,  to  see  or  hear. 


75 


76  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Poor  Polly's  dying  struck  him  queer, 
He  was  a  darkened  man  thereafter, 
Cowed  silent,  he  would  wince  at  laughter 
And  be  so  gentle  it  was  strange 
Even  to  see.     Life  loves  to  change. 

Now  Coin  St.  Evelyn's  hearths  are  cold 

The  shutters  up,  the  hunters  sold, 

And  green  mould  damps  the  locked  front  door. 

But  this  was  still  a  month  before, 

And  Polly,  golden  in  the  chaise. 

Still  smiled,  and  there  were  golden  days, 

Still  thirty  days,  for  those  dear  lovers. 


SPORTSMAN 


77 


The  Riddens  came,  from  Ocle  Covers, 

Bill  Ridden  riding  Stormalong, 

(By  Tempest  out  of  Love-me-long) 

A  proper  handful  of  a  horse. 

That  nothing  but  the  Aintree  course 

Could  bring  to  terms,  save  Bill  perhaps. 

All  sport,  from  bloody  war  to  craps, 

Came  well  to  Bill,  that  big-mouthed  smiler ; 

They  nick-named  him  "the  mug-beguiler," 

For  Billy  lived  too  much  with  horses 

In  coper's  yards  and  sharper's  courses, 

To  lack  the  sharper-coper  streak. 

He  did  not  turn  the  other  cheek 

When  struck  (as  English  Christians  do), 

79 


All  sport,  from  bloody  war  to  craps. 
Came  well  to  Bill,  that  big-mouthed  smiler. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  8l 

He  boxed  like  a  Whitechapel  Jew, 
And  many  a  time  his  knuckles  bled 
Against  a  race-course-gipsy's  head. 
For  "hit  him  first  and  argue  later  " 
Was  truth  at  Billy's  alma  mater, 
Not  love,  not  any  bosh  of  love. 
His  hand  was  like  a  chamois  glove 
And  riding  was  his  chief  delight. 
He  bred  the  chaser  Chinese-white, 
From  Lilybud  by  Mandarin. 
And  when  his  mouth  tucked  corners  in, 
And  scent  was  high  and  hounds  were  going, 
He  went  across  a  field  like  snowing 
And  tackled  anything  that  came. 

His  wife,  Sal  Ridden,  was  the  same, 
A  loud,  bold,  blonde  abundant  mare, 

G 


82 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


With  white  horse  teeth  and  stocks  of  hair, 
(Like  polished  brass)  and  such  a  manner 
It  flaunted  from  her  like  a  banner. 
Her  father  was  Tom  See  the  trainer ; 
She  rode  a  lovely  earth-disdainer 
Which  she  and  Billy  wished  to  sell. 


Behind  them  rode  her  daughter  Bell, 
A  strange  shy  lovely  girl  whose  face 


y 


TACK.LEU  ANYTHING   THAT   CAME." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  83 

Was  sweet  with  thought  and  proud  with  race, 
And  bright  with  joy  at  riding  there. 
She  was  as  good  as  blowing  air 
But  shy  and  difficult  to  know. 
The  kittens  in  the  barley-mow, 
The  setter's  toothless  puppies  sprawling, 
The  blackbird  in  the  apple  calling. 
All  knew  her  spirit  more  than  we, 
So  delicate  these  maidens  be 
In  loving  lovely  helpless  things. 

The  Manor  set,  from  Tencombe  Rings, 

Came,  with  two  friends,  a  set  of  six. 

Ed  Manor  with  his  cockerel  chicks, 

Nob,  Cob  and  Bunny  as  they  called  them, 

(God  help  the  school  or  rule  which  galled  them; 

They  carried  head)  and  friends  from  town. 


84 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Ed  Manor  trained  on  Tencombe  Down. 

He  once  had  been  a  famous  bat, 

He  had  that  stroke,  "the  Manor-pat," 

Which  snicked  the  ball  for  three,  past  cover. 

He  once  scored  twenty  in  an  over, 

But  now  he  cricketed  no  more. 

He  purpled  in  the  face  and  swore 

At  all  three  sons,  and  trained,  and  told 

Long  tales  of  cricketing  of  old. 

When  he  alone  had  saved  his  side. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  85 

Drink  made  it  doubtful  if  he  lied, 
Drink  purpled  him,  he  could  not  face 
The  fences  now,  nor  go  the  pace 
He  brought  his  friends  to  meet ;   no  more. 

His  big  son  Nob,  at  whom  he  swore, 
Swore  back  at  him,  for  Nob  was  surly, 
Tall,  shifty,  sullen-smiling,  burly. 
Quite  fearless,  built  with  such  a  jaw 
That  no  man's  rule  could  be  his  law 
Nor  any  woman's  son  his  master. 
Boxing  he  relished.     He  could  plaster 
All  those  who  boxed  out  Tencombe  way. 
A  front  tooth  had  been  knocked  away 
Two  days  before,  which  put  his  mouth 
A  little  to  the  east  of  south. 
And  put  a  venom  in  his  laughter. 


86  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Cob  was  a  lighter  lad,  but  dafter ; 
Just  past  eighteen,  while  Nob  was  twenty. 
Nob  had  no  nerves  but  Cob  had  plenty 
So  Cobby  went  where  Nobby  led. 
He  had  no  brains  inside  his  head. 
Was  fearless,  just  like  Nob,  but  put 
Some  clog  of  folly  round  his  foot. 
Where  Nob  put  will  of  force  or  fraud  ; 
He  spat  aside  and  muttered  Gawd 
When  vext ;     he  took  to  whiskey  kindly 
And  loved  and  followed  Nobby  blindly. 
And  rode  as  in  the  saddle  born. 

Bun  looked  upon  the  two  with  scorn. 
He  was  the  youngest,  and  was  wise. 
He  too  was  fair,  with  sullen  eyes, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  87 

He  too  (a  year  before)  had  had 
A  zest  for  going  to  the  bad, 
With  Cob  and  Nob.     He  knew  the  joys 
Of  drinking  with  the  stable-boys, 
Or  smoking  while  he  filled  his  skin 
With  pints  of  Guinness  dashed  with  gin 
And  Cobby  yelled  a  bawdy  ditty. 
Or  cutting  Nobby  for  the  kitty. 
And  damning  peoples'  eyes  and  guts. 
Or  drawing  evening-church  for  sluts, 
He  knew  them  all  and  now  was  quit. 

Sweet  Polly  Colway  managed  it. 

And  Bunny  changed.     He  dropped  his  drink' 

(The  pleasant  pit's  seductive  brink), 

He  started  working  in  the  stable. 


88  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

And  well,  for  he  was  shrewd  and  able. 
He  left  the  doubtful  female  friends 
Picked  up  at  Evening-Service  ends, 
He  gave  up  cards  and  swore  no  more. 
Nob  called  him  "the  Reforming  Whore," 
"The  Soul's  Awakening,"  or  "The  Text," 
Nob  being  always  coarse  when  vext. 

Ed  Manor's  friends  were  Hawke  and  Sladd, 

Old  college  friends,  the  last  he  had. 

Rare  horsemen,  but  their  nerves  were  shaken 

By  all  the  whiskey  they  had  taken. 

Hawke's  hand  was  trembling  on  his  rein. 

His  eyes  were  dead-blue  like  a  vein. 

His  peaked  sad  face  was  touched  with  breeding. 

His  querulous  mind  was  quaint  from  reading, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


89 


His  piping  voice  still  quirked  with  fun. 
Many  a  mad  thing  he  had  done, 
Riding  to  hounds  and  going  to  races. 
A  glimmer  of  the  gambler's  graces, 
Wit,  courage,  devil,  touched  his  talk. 


Sladd's  big  fat  face  was  white  as  chalk. 
His  mind  went  wondering,  swift  yet  solemn. 


90  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Twixt  winning-post  and  betting  column, 
The  weights  and  forms  and  likely  colts. 
He  said  "This  road  is  full  of  jolts. 
I  shall  be  seasick  riding  here. 
O  damn  last  night  with  that  liqueur." 

Len  Stokes  rode  up  on  Peterkin  ; 
He  owned  the  Downs  by  Baydon  Whin ; 
And  grazed  some  thousand  sheep  ;    the  boy 
Grinned  round  at  men  with  jolly  joy 
At  being  alive  and  being  there. 
His  big  round  face  and  mop  of  hair 
Shone,  his  great  teeth  shone  in  his  grin. 
The  clean  blood  in  his  clear  tanned  skin 
Ran  mern.",  and  his  great  voice  mocked 
His  young  friends  present  till  they  rocked. 


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THEV  SWERVED,  AS   HE  PASSED,   TO   FRONT  HIS  COURSE.' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  91 

Steer  Harpit  came  from  Rowell  Hill, 
A  small,  frail  man,  all  heart  and  will, 
A  sailor  as  his  voice  betrayed. 
He  let  his  whip-thong  droop  and  played 
At  snicking  off  the  grass-blades  with  it. 
John  Hankerton,  from  Compton  Lythitt, 
Was  there  with  Pity  Hankerton, 
And  Mike,  their  good-for-little  son. 
Back,  smiling,  from  his  seventh  job. 
Joan  Urch  was  there  upon  her  cob. 
Tom  Sparsholt  on  his  lanky  grey. 
John  Restrop  from  Hope  Goneaway. 
And  Vaughan,  the  big  black  handsome  devil. 
Loose-lipped  with  song  and  wine  and  revel 
All  rosy  from  his  morning  tub 


THE  EXQUISITE 


93 


The  Godsdown  tigress  with  her  cub 
(Lady  and  Tommy  Crowmarsh)  came. 
The  great  eyes  smouldered  in  the  dame, 
Wit  glittered,  too,  which  few  men  saw. 
There  was  more  beauty  there  than  claw. 
Tommy  in  bearing,  horse  and  dress 
Was  black,  fastidious,  handsomeness, 
Choice  to  his  trimmed  soul's  fingertips. 
Heredia's  sonnets  on  his  lips. 
A  line  undrawn,  a  plate  not  bitten, 
A  stone  uncut,  a  phrase  unwritten, 
That  would  be  perfect,  made  his  mind. 
A  choice  pull,  from  a  rare  print,  signed. 
Was  Tommy.     He  collected  plate, 

95 


The  Godsdown  Tigress  with  her  cub 
(Lady  and  Tommy  Crowmarsh)  came. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 
(Old  Sheffield)  and  he  owned  each  state 
Of  all  the  Meryon  Paris  etchings. 

Colonel  Sir  Button  Budd  of  Fletchings 
Was  there ;   Long  Robert  Thrupp  was  there, 
(Three  yards  of  him  men  said  there  were), 
Long  as  the  King  of  Prussia's  fancy. 
He  rode  the  longlegged  Necromancy, 
A  useless  racehorse  that  could  canter. 
George  Childrey  with  his  jolly  banter 
Was  there,  Nick  Childrey,  too,  come  down 
The  night  before  from  London  town, 
To  hunt  and  have  his  lungs  blown  clean. 
The  Ilsley  set  from  Tuttocks  Green 
Was  there  (old  Henry  Ilsley  drove), 
Carlotta  Ilsley  brought  her  love 


97 


98  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

A  flop-jowled  broker  from  the  city. 
Men  pitied  her,  for  she  was  pretty. 

Some  grooms  and  second  horsemen  mustered. 
A  lot  of  men  on  foot  were  clustered 
Round  the  inn-door,  all  busy  drinking. 
One  heard  the  kissing  glasses  clinking 
In  passage  as  the  tray  was  brought. 
Two  terriers  (which  they  had  there)  fought 
There  on  the  green,  a  loud,  wild  whirl. 
Bell  stopped  them  like  a  gallant  girl. 
The  hens  behind  the  tavern  clucked. 


THE  SOLDIER 


99 


Then  on  a  horse  which  bit  and  bucked 
(The  half-broke  four-year-old  Marauder) 
Came  Minton-Price  of  th'  Afghan  border, 
Lean,  puckered,  yellowed,  knotted,  scarred, 
Tough  as  a  hide-rope  twisted  hard. 


I02  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Tense  tiger-sinew  linit  to  bone. 
Strange-wayed  from  having  lived  alone 
With  Kafir,  Afghan  and  Beloosh 
In  stations  frozen  in  the  Koosh 
Where  nothing  but  the  bullet  sings. 
His  mind  had  conquered  many  things, 
Painting,  mechanics,  physics,  law, 
White-hot,  hand-beaten  things  to  draw 
Self-hammered  from  his  own  soul's  stithy, 
His  speech  was  blacksmith-sparked  and  pithy. 
Danger  had  been  his  brother  bred ; 
The  stones  had  often  been  his  bed 
In  bickers  with  the  border-thieves. 


THE  COUNTRY'S  HOPE 


103 


A  chestnut  mare  with  swerves  and  heaves 
Came  plunging,  scattering  all  the  crowd, 
She  tossed  her  head  and  laughed  aloud 
And  bickered  sideways  past  the  meet. 
From  pricking  ears  to  mincing  feet 
She  was  all  tense  with  blood  and  quiver, 
You  saw  her  dipt  hide  twitch  and  shiver 
Over  her  netted  cords  of  veins. 
She  carried  Cothill,  of  the  Sleins  ; 
A  tall,  black,  bright-eyed  handsome  lad. 
Great  power  and  great  grace  he  had. 
Men  hoped  the  greatest  things  of  him, 
His  grace  made  people  think  him  slim. 
But  he  was  muscled  like  a  horse 

los 


I06  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

A  sculptor  would  have  wrought  his  torse 

In  bronze  or  marble  for  Apollo. 

He  loved  to  hurry  like  a  swallow 

For  miles  on  miles  of  short-grassed  sweet 

Blue-harebelled  downs  where  dewy  feet 

Of  pure  winds  hurry  ceaselessly. 

He  loved  the  downland  like  a  sea, 

The  downland  where  the  kestrels  hover ; 

The  downland  had  him  for  a  lover. 

And  every  other  thing  he  loved 

In  which  a  clean  free  spirit  moved. 

So  beautiful,  he  was,  so  bright. 
He  looked  to  men  like  young  delight 
Gone  courting  April  maidenhood, 
That  has  the  primrose  in  her  blood, 
He  on  his  mincing  lady  mare. 


COUNTRYMEN 


t07 


Ock  Gurney  and  old  Pete  were  there, 

Riding  their  bonny  cobs  and  swearing. 

Ock's  wife  had  giv'n  them  both  a  fairing, 

A  horse-rosette,  red,  white  and  blue. 

Their  cheeks  were  brown  as  any  brew. 

And  every  comer  to  the  meet 
109 


no  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Said  "Hello,  Ock,"  or  "Morning,  Pete; 
Be  you  a  going  to  a  wedding  ?" 
"Why,  noa,"  they  said,  "we'm  going  a  bedding; 
Now  ben't  us,  uncle,  ben't  us,  Ock  ?" 
Pete  Gurney  was  a  lusty  cock 
Turned  sixty-three,  but  bright  and  hale, 
A  dairy-farmer  in  the  vale. 
Much  like  a  robin  in  the  face. 
Much  character  in  little  space. 
With  little  eyes  like  burning  coal. 
His  mouth  was  like  a  slit  or  hole 
In  leather  that  was  seamed  and  lined. 
He  had  the  russet-apple  mind 
That  betters  as  the  weather  worsen. 
He  was  a  manly  English  person. 
Kind  to  the  core,  brave,  merry,  true ; 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  in 

One  grief  he  had,  a  grief  still  new, 
That  former  Parson  joined  with  Squire 
In  putting  down  the  Playing  Quire, 
In  church,  and  putting  organ  in. 
"Ah,  boys,  that  was  a  pious  din 
That  Quire  was  ;   a  pious  praise 
The  noise  was  that  we  used  to  raise ; 
I  and  my  serpent,  George  with  his'n. 
On  Easter  Day  in  He  is  Risen, 
Or  blessed  Christmas  in  Venite ; 
And  how  the  trombone  came  in  mighty, 
In  Alleluias  from  the  heart. 
Pious,  for  each  man  played  his  part. 
Not  like  'tis  now."     Thus  he,  still  sore 
For  changes  forty  years  before. 
When  all  (that  could)  in  time  and  tune. 


112  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Blew  trumpets  to  the  newe  moon. 
He  was  a  bachelor,  from  choice. 
He  and  his  nephew  farmed  the  Boyce 
Prime  pasture  land  for  thirty  cows. 
Ock's  wife,  Selina  Jane,  kept  house, 
And  jolly  were  the  three  together. 
Ock  had  a  face  like  summer  weather, 
A  broad  red  sun,  split  by  a  smile. 
He  mopped  his  forehead  all  the  while. 
And  said  "By  damn,"  and  "Ben't  us,  Unk?" 
His  eyes  were  close  and  deeply  sunk. 
He  cursed  his  hunter  like  a  lover, 
"Now  blast  your  soul,  my  dear,  give  over. 
Woa,  now,  my  pretty,  damn  your  eyes." 
Like  Pete  he  was  of  middle  size, 
Dean-oak-like,  stuggy,  strong  in  shoulder, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  .113 

He  stood  a  wrestle  like  a  boulder, 
He  had  a  back  for  pitching  hay. 
His  singing  voice  was  like  a  bay. 
In  talk  he  had  a  sideways  spit, 
Each  minute,  to  refresh  his  wit. 
He  cracked  Brazil  nuts  with  his  teeth. 
He  challenged  Cobbett  of  the  Heath 
(Weight-lifting  champion)  once,  but  lost. 
Hunting  was  what  he  loved  the  most, 
Next  to  his  wife  and  Uncle  Pete. 
With  beer  to  drink  and  cheese  to  eat, 
And  rain  in  May  to  fill  the  grasses, 
This  life  was  not  a  dream  that  passes 
To  Ock,  but  like  the  summer  flower. 


THE  HOUNDS 


"S 


But  now  the  clock  had  struck  the  hour, 

And  round  the  corner,  down  the  road 

The  bob-bob-bobbing  serpent  flowed 

With  three  black  knobs  upon  its  spine ; 

Three  bobbing  black-caps  in  a  line. 

A  glimpse  of  scarlet  at  the  gap 

Showed  underneath  each  bobbing  cap, 

And  at  the  corner  by  the  gate, 

One  heard  Tom  Dansey  give  a  rate, 

"Hep,  Drop  it.  Jumper;   have  a  care," 

There  came  a  growl,  half-rate,  half-swear, 

A  spitting  crack,  a  tuneful  whimper 

And  sweet  religion  entered  Jumper. 
117 


Il8  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

There  was  a  general  turn  of  faces, 
The  men  and  horses  shifted  places, 
And  round  the  corner  came  the  hunt, 
Those  feathery  things,  the  hounds,  in  front, 
Intent,  wise,  dipping,  trotting,  straying. 
Smiling  at  people,  shoving,  playing. 
Nosing  to  children's  faces,  waving 
Their  feathery  sterns,  and  all  behaving, 
One  eye  to  Dansey  on  Maroon. 
Their  padding  cat-feet  beat  a  tune, 
And  though  they  trotted  up  so  quiet 
Their  noses  brought  them  news  of  riot. 
Wild  smells  of  things  with  living  blood. 
Hot  smells,  against  the  grippers  good. 
Of  weasel,  rabbit,  cat  and  hare, 
Whose  feet  had  been  before  them  there, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  119 

Whose  taint  still  tingled  every  breath ; 
But  Dansey  on  Maroon  was  death, 
So,  though  their  noses  roved,  their  feet 
Larked  and  trit-trotted  to  the  meet. 

Bill  Tali  and  Ell  and  Mirtie  Key 
(Aged  fourteen  years  between  the  three) 
Were  flooded  by  them  at  the  bend, 
They  thought  their  little  lives  would  end. 
For  grave  sweet  eyes  looked  into  theirs, 
Cold  noses  came,  and  clean  short  hairs 
And  tails  all  crumpled  up  like  ferns, 
A  sea  of  moving  heads  and  sterns, 
All  round  them,  brushing  coat  and  dress  ; 
One  paused,  expecting  a  caress. 
The  children  shrank  into  each  other, 


A  sea  of  moving  heads  and  sterns, 

All  round  them,  brushing  coat  and  dress. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  121 

Shut  eyes,  clutched  tight  and  shouted  "Mother" 
With  mouths  wide  open,  catching  tears. 

Sharp  Mrs.  Tall  allayed  their  fears, 

"Err  out  the  road,  the  dogs  won't  hurt  'ee. 

There  now,  you've  cried  your  faces  dirty. 

More  cleaning  up  for  me  to  do. 

What  ?     Cry  at  dogs,  great  lumps  like  you  ?" 

She  licked  her  handkerchief  and  smeared 

Their  faces  where  the  dirt  appeared. 

The  hunt  trit-trotted  to  the  meeting, 
Tom  Dansey  touching  cap  to  greeting, 
Slow-lifting  crop-thong  to  the  rim. 
No  hunter  there  got  more  from  him 
Except  some  brightening  of  the  eye. 


122  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  halted  at  the  Cock  and  Pye, 

The  hounds  drew  round  him  on  the  green, 

Arrogant,  Daffodil  and  Queen, 

Closest,  but  all  in  little  space. 

Some  lolled  their  tongues,  some  made  grimace. 

Yawning,  or  tilting  nose  in  quest, 

All  stood  and  looked  about  with  zest. 

They  were  uneasy  as  they  waited. 

Their  sires  and  dams  had  been  well-mated. 

They  were  a  lovely  pack  for  looks  ; 

Their  forelegs  drumsticked  without  crooks, 

Straight,  without  overtread  or  bend. 

Muscled  to  gallop  to  the  end. 

With  neat  feet  round  as  any  cat's. 

Great  chested,  muscled  in  the  slats. 

Bright,  clean,  short-coated,  broad  in  shoulder. 

With  stag-like  eyes  that  seemed  to  smoulder. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  123 

The  heads  well-cocked,  the  clean  necks  strong ; 
Brows  broad,  ears  close,  the  muzzles  long ; 
And  all  like  racers  in  the  thighs ; 
Their  noses  exquisitely  wise, 
Their  minds  being  memories  of  smells ; 
Their  voices  like  a  ring  of  bells  ; 
Their  sterns  all  spirit,  cock  and  feather ; 
Their  colours  like  the  English  weather, 
Magpie  and  hare,  and  badger-pye, 
Like  minglings  in  a  double  dye, 
Some  smutty-nosed,  some  tan,  none  bald ; 
Their  manners  were  to  come  when  called. 
Their  fiesh  was  sinew  knit  to  bone, 
Their  courage  like  a  banner  blown. 
Their  joy,  to  push  him  out  of  cover. 
And  hunt  him  till  they  rolled  him  over. 
They  were  as  game  as  Robert  Dover. 


THE  WHIP 


"S 


Tom  Dansey  was  a  famous  whip 

Trained  as  a  child  in  horsemanship, 

Entered,  as  soon  as  he  was  able, 

As  boy  at  Caunter's  racing  stable ; 

There,  like  the  other  boys,  he  slept 

In  stall  beside  the  horse  he  kept, 

Snug  in  the  straw ;   and  Caunter's  stick 

Brought  morning  to  him  all  too  quick. 

He  learned  the  high  quick  gingery  ways 

Of  thoroughbreds  ;    his  stable  days 

Made  him  a  rider,  groom  and  vet. 

He  promised  to  be  too  thickset 

For  jockeying,  so  left  it  soon. 

Now  he  was  whip  and  rode  Maroon. 
127 


His  chief  delight 

Was  hunting  fox  from  noon  to  night. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  129 

He  was  a  small,  lean,  wiry  man 
With  sunk  cheeks  weathered  to  a  tan 
Scarred  by  the  spikes  of  hawthorn  sprays 
Dashed  thro',  head  down,  on  going  days, 
In  haste  to  see  the  line  they  took. 
There  was  a  beauty  in  his  look, 
It  was  intent.     His  speech  was  plain. 
Maroon's  head,  reaching  to  the  rein. 
Had  half  his  thought  before  he  spoke. 
His  "gone  away,"  when  foxes  broke, 
Was  like  a  bell.     His  chief  delight 
Was  hunting  fox  from  noon  to  night. 
His  pleasure  lay  in  hounds  and  horses, 
He  loved  the  Seven  Springs  water-courses, 
Those  flashing  brooks  (in  good  sound  grass, 
Where  scent  would  hang  like  breath  on  glass). 


130  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  loved  the  English  countryside  ; 
The  wine-leaved  bramble  in  the  ride, 
The  lichen  on  the  apple-trees, 
The  poultry  ranging  on  the  lees, 
The  farms,  the  moist  earth-smelling  cover, 
His  wife's  green  grave  at  Mitcheldover, 
Where  snowdrops  pushed  at  the  first  thaw. 
Under  his  hide  his  heart  was  raw 
With  joy  and  pity  of  these  things. 
The  second  whip  was  Kitty  Myngs, 
Still  but  a  lad  but  keen  and  quick 
(Son  of  old  Myngs  who  farmed  the  Wick), 
A  horse-mouthed  lad  who  knew  his  work. 
He  rode  the  big  black  horse,  the  Turk, 
And  longed  to  be  a  huntsman  bold. 
He  had  the  horse-look,  sharp  and  old, 
With  much  good-nature  in  his  face. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  131 

His  passion  was  to  go  the  pace 

His  blood  was  crying  for  a  taming. 

He  was  the  Devil's  chick  for  gaming, 

He  was  a  rare  good  lad  to  box. 

He  sometimes  had  a  main  of  cocks 

Down  at  the  Flags.     His  job  with  hounds 

At  present  kept  his  blood  in  bounds 

From  rioting  and  running  hare. 

Tom  Dansey  made  him  have  a  care. 

He  worshipped  Dansey  heart  and  soul. 

To  be  a  huntsman  was  his  goal. 

To  be  with  hounds,  to  charge  full  tilt 

Blackthorns  that  made  the  gentry  wilt 

Was  his  ambition  and  his  hope. 

He  was  a  hot  colt  needing  rope, 

He  was  too  quick  to  speak  his  passion 

To  suit  his  present  huntsman's  fashion. 


THE  HUNTSMAN 


133 


m       1 

fe 

M^^^^ 

^%^^^^^^ 

'v 

?* 

„  m^mM 

The  huntsman,  Robin  Dawe,  looked  round, 

He  sometimes  called  a  favourite  hound. 

Gently,  to  see  the  creature  turn 

Look  happy  up  and  wag  his  stern. 

He  smiled  and  nodded  and  saluted. 

To  those  who  hailed  him,  as  it  suited. 

135 


136  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

And  patted  Pip's,  his  hunter's  neck. 
His  new  pink  was  without  a  speck ; 
He  was  a  red-faced  smiling  fellow, 
His  voice  clear  tenor,  full  and  mellow. 
His  eyes,  all  fire,  were  black  and  small. 
He  had  been  smashed  in  many  a  fall. 
His  eyebrow  had  a  white  curved  mark 
Left  by  the  bright  shoe  of  The  Lark, 
Down  in  a  ditch  by  Seven  Springs. 
His  coat  had  all  been  trod  to  strings, 
His  ribs  laid  bare  and  shoulder  broken 
Being  jumped  on  down  at  Water's  Oaken, 
The  time  his  horse  came  down  and  rolled. 
His  face  was  of  the  country  mould 
Such  as  the  mason  sometimes  cutted 
On  English  moulding-ends  which  jutted 


&>  \ 


\<Jrf  i  A 


b. 


'WITH  THE  LOLLOPING  EASE  OF  A  FOXS   HASTE.' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  137 

Out  of  the  church  walls,  centuries  since. 
And  as  you  never  know  the  quince, 
How  good  he  is,  until  you  try. 
So,  in  Dawe's  face,  what  met  the  eye 
Was  only  part,  what  lay  behind 
Was  English  character  and  mind. 
Great  kindness,  delicate  sweet  feeling, 
(Most  shy,  most  clever  in  concealing 
Its  depth)  for  beauty  of  all  sorts. 
Great  manliness  and  love  of  sports, 
A  grave  wise  thoughtfulness  and  truth, 
A  merry  fun,  outlasting  youth, 
A  courage  terrible  to  see 
And  mercy  for  his  enemy. 

He  had  a  clean-shaved  face,  but  kept 


I3«  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

A  hedge  of  whisker  neatly  dipt, 
A  narrow  strip  or  picture  frame 
(Old  Dawe,  the  woodman,  did  the  same), 
Under  his  chin  from  ear  to  ear. 


THE  MASTER 


139 


But  now  the  resting  hounds  gave  cheer, 

Joyful  and  Arrogant  and  Catch-him, 

Smelt  the  glad  news  and  ran  to  snatch  him, 

The  Master's  dogcart  turned  the  bend. 

Damsel  and  Skylark  knew  their  friend  ; 

A  thrill  ran  through  the  pack  like  fire, 

And  little  whimpers  ran  in  quire. 

The  horses  cocked  and  pawed  and  whickered, 

Young  Cothill's  chaser  kicked  and  bickered. 

And  stood  on  end  and  struck  out  sparks. 

Joyful  and  Catch-him  sang  like  larks, 

There  was  the  Master  in  the  trap, 

Clutching  old  Roman  in  his  lap, 

Old  Roman,  crazy  for  his  brothers, 

141 


142  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

And  putting  frenzy  in  the  others, 
To  set  them  at  the  dogcart  wheels, 
With  thrusting  heads  and  little  squeals. 

The  Master  put  old  Roman  by. 
And  eyed  the  thrusters  heedfully. 
He  called  a  few  pet  hounds  and  fed 
Three  special  friends  with  scraps  of  bread, 
Then  peeled  his  wraps,  climbed  down  and  strode 
Through  all  those  clamourers  in  the  road, 
Saluted  friends,  looked  round  the  crowd. 
Saw  Harridew's  three  girls  and  bowed, 
Then  took  White  Rabbit  from  the  groom. 

He  was  Sir  Peter  Bynd,  of  Coombe ; 
Past  sixty  now,  though  hearty  still, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  143 

A  living  picture  of  good-will, 
An  old,  grave  soldier,  sweet  and  kind, 
A  courtier  with  a  knightly  mind, 
Who  felt  whatever  thing  he  thought. 
His  face  was  scarred,  for  he  had  fought 
Five  wars  for  us.     Within  his  face 
Courage  and  power  had  their  place, 
Rough  energy,  decision,  force. 
He  smiled  about  him  from  his  horse. 
He  had  a  welcome  and  salute 
For  all,  on  horse  or  wheel  or  foot. 
Whatever  kind  of  life  each  followed. 
His  tanned,  drawn  cheeks  looked  old  and  hollowed, 
But  still  his  bright  blue  eyes  were  young. 
And  when  the  pack  crashed  into  tongue. 
And  staunch  White  Rabbit  shook  like  fire, 


He  had  a  welcome  and  salute 
For  all,  on  horse  or  wheel  or  foot. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  145 

He  sent  him  at  it  like  a  flier, 
And  lived  with  hounds  while  horses  could. 
"They'm  lying  in  the  Ghost  Heath  Wood, 
Sir  Peter,"  said  an  earth-stopper, 
(Old  Baldy  Hill),  "You'll  find  'em  there. 
'Z  I  come'd  across  I  smell  'em  plain. 
There's  one  up  back,  down  Tuttock's  drain. 
But,  Lord,  it's  just  a  bog,  the  Tuttocks, 
Hounds  would  be  swallered  to  the  buttocks. 
Heath  Wood,  Sir  Peter's  best  to  draw." 


THE  START 


U7 


Sir  Peter  gave  two  minutes'  law 

For  Kingston  Challow  and  his  daughter; 

He     said,      "They're     late.       We'll     start     the 

slaughter. 
Ghost  Heath,  then,  Dansey,     We'll  be  going." 

Now,  at  his  word,  the  tide  was  flowing 

Off  went  Maroon,  off  went  the  hounds, 

Down  road,  then  off,  to  Chols  Elm  Grounds, 

Across  soft  turf  with  dead  leaves  cleaving 

And  hillocks  that  the  mole  was  heaving. 

Mild  going  to  those  trotting  feet. 

After  the  scarlet  coats,  the  meet 

149 


150  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Came  clopping  up  the  grass  in  spate ; 
They  poached  the  trickle  at  the  gate ; 
Their  horses'  feet  sucked  at  the  mud ; 
Excitement  in  the  horses'  blood, 
Cocked  forward  every  ear  and  eye ; 
They  quivered  as  the  hounds  went  by, 
They  trembled  when  they  first  trod  grass  ; 
They  would  not  let  another  pass, 
They  scattered  wide  up  Chols  Elm  Hill. 

The  wind  was  westerly  but  still ; 

The  sky  a  high  fair-weather  cloud, 

Like  meadows  ridge-and-furrow  ploughed, 

Just  glinting  sun  but  scarcely  moving. 

Blackbirds  and  thrushes  thought  of  loving, 

Catkins  were  out ;   the  day  seemed  tense 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


151 


It  was  so  still.     At  every  fence 
Cow-parsley  pushed  its  thin  green  fern. 
White-violet-leaves  shewed  at  the  burn. 


Young  Cothill  let  his  chaser  go 
Round  Chols  Elm  Field  a  turn  or  so 
To  soothe  his  edge.     The  riders  went 
Chatting  and  laughing  and  content 


152  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

In  groups  of  two  or  three  together. 
The  hounds,  a  flock  of  shaking  feather, 
Bobbed  on  ahead,  past  Chols  Elm  Cop. 
The  horses'  shoes  went  clip-a-clop, 
Along  the  stony  cart-track  there. 
The  little  spinney  was  all  bare, 
But  in  the  earth-moist  winter  day 
The  scarlet  coats  twixt  tree  and  spray. 
The  glistening  horses  pressing  on. 
The  brown  faced  lads,  Bill,  Dick  and  John, 
And  all  the.  hurry  to  arrive. 
Were  beautiful,  like  Spring  alive. 
The  hounds  melted  away  with  Master 
The  tanned  lads  ran,  the  field  rode  faster. 
The  chatter  joggled  in  the  throats 
Of  riders  bumping  by  like  boats. 


The  scarlet  coats  twixt  tree  and  spray, 
The  gHstening  horses  pressing  on. 

And  all  the  hurry  to  arrive, 
Were  beautiful,  like  Spring  alive. 


154  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

"We  really  ought  to  hunt  a  bye  day." 
"Fine  day  for  scent,"  "A  fly  or  die  day." 
"They  chopped  a  bagman  in  the  check, 
He  had  a  collar  round  his  neck." 
"Old  Ridden's  girl's  a  pretty  flapper." 
"That  Vaughan's  a  cad,  the  whipper-snapper." 
"I  tell  'ee,  lads,  I  seed  'em  plain, 
Down  in  the  Rough  at  Shifford's  Main, 
Old  Squire  stamping  like  a  Duke, 
So  red  with  blood  I  thought  he'd  puke, 
In  appleplexie,  as  they  do. 
Miss  Jane  stood  just  as  white  as  dew. 
And  heard  him  out  in  just  white  heat, 
And  then  she  trimmed  him  down  a  treat, 
About  Miss  Lou  it  was,  or  Carrie 
(She'd  be  a  pretty  peach  to  marry)." 


REYNARD  THE  FOX 
"Her'U  draw  up-wind,  so  us'Il  go 
Down  by  the  furze,  we'll  see  'em  so." 

"Look,  there  they  go,  lad." 

There  they  went, 
Across  the  brook  and  up  the  bent. 
Past  Primrose  Wood,  past  Brady  Ride, 
Along  Ghost  Heath  to  cover  side. 
The  bobbing  scarlet,  trotting  pack. 
Turf  scatters  tossed  behind  each  back, 
Some  horses  blowing  with  a  whinny, 
A  jam  of  horses  in  the  spinney, 
Close  to  the  ride-gate ;   leather  straining. 
Saddles  all  creaking;    men  complaining, 
Chaffing  each  other  as  they  pass't, 


155 


IS6  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

On  Ghost  Heath  turf  they  trotted  fast. 
Now  as  they  neared  the  Ghost  Heath  Wood 
Some  riders  grumbled,  "What's  the  good : 
It's  shot  all  day  and  poached  all  night. 
We  shall  draw  blank  and  lose  the  light, 
And  lose  the  scent,  and  lose  the  day. 
Why  can't  he  draw  Hope  Goneaway, 
Or  Tuttocks  Wood,  instead  of  this  ? 
There's  no  fox  here,  there  never  is." 

But    as    he    trotted    up   to 

cover, 
Robin  was  watching  to  dis- 
cover 
What  chance  there  was,  and  many  a  token 
Told  him,  that  though  no  hound  had  spoken, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  157 

Most  of  them  stirred  to  something  there. 
The  old  hounds'  muzzles  searched  the  a.ir, 
Thin  ghosts  of  scents  were  in  their  teeth, 
From  foxes  which  had  crossed  the  Heath 
Not  very  many  hours  before. 
"We'll  find,"  he  said,  "I'll  bet  a  score." 
Along  Ghost  Heath  they  trotted  well. 
The  hoof-cuts  made  the  bruised  earth  smell, 
The  shaken  brambles  scattered  drops, 
Stray  pheasants  kukkered  out  of  copse. 
Cracking  the  twigs  down  with  their  knockings 
And  planing  out  of  sight  with  cockings ; 
A  scut  or  two  lopped  white  to  bramble. 


" COVER " 


159 


And  now  they  gathered  to  the  gamble 

At  Ghost  Heath  Wood  on  Ghost  Heath  Down, 

The  hounds  went  crackling  through  the  brown 

Dry  stalks  of  bracken  killed  by  frost. 

The  wood  stood  silent  in  its  host 

Of  halted  trees  all  winter  bare. 

The  boughs,  like  veins  that  suck  the  air, 

Stretched  tense,  the  last  leaf  scarcely  stirred. 

There  came  no  song  from  any  bird ; 

The  darkness  of  the  wood  stood  still 

Waiting  for  fate  on  Ghost  Heath  Hill. 

The  whips  crept  to  the  sides  to  view ; 

The  Master  gave  the  nod,  and  "Leu, 

Leu  in,  Ed-hoick,  Ed-hoick,  Leu  in," 

ti  i6i  * 


And  now  they  gathered  to  the  gamble 

At  Ghost  Heath  Wood  on  Ghost  Heath  Down. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  163 

Went  Robin,  cracking  through  the  whin 
And  through  the  hedge-gap  into  cover. 
The  binders  crashed  as  hounds  went  over, 
And  cock-cock-cock  the  pheasants  rose. 
Then  up  went  stern  and  down  went  nose, 
And  Robin's  cheerful  tenor  cried, 
Through  hazel-scrub  and  stub  and  ride, 
"O  wind  him,  beauties,  push  him  out, 
Yooi,  onto  him,  Yahout,  Yahout, 
O  push  him  out,  Yooi,  wind  him,  wind  him." 
The  beauties  burst  the  scrub  to  find  him. 
They  nosed  the  warren's  clipped  green  lawn, 
The  bramble  and  the  broom  were  drawn, 
The  covert's  northern  end  was  blank. 

They  turned  to  draw  along  the  bank 
Through  thicker  cover  than  the  Rough 


l64  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Through  three-and-four-year  understuff 
Where  Robin's  forearm  screened  his  eyes. 
"Yooi,  find  him,  beauties,"  came  his  cries. 
"Hark,  hark  to  Daffodil,"  the  laughter 
Fain  from  his  horn,  brought  whimpers  after, 
For  ends  of  scents  were  everywhere. 
He  said,  "This  Hope's  a  likely  lair. 
And  there's  his  billets,  grey  and  furred. 
And  George,  he's  moving,  there's  a  bird." 

A  blue  uneasy  jay  was  chacking. 

(A  swearing  screech,  like  tearing  sacking) 

From  tree  to  tree,  as  in  pursuit. 

He  said  "That's  it.     There's  fox  afoot. 

And  there,  they're  feathering,  there  she  speaks. 

Good  Daffodil,  good  Tarrybreeks, 


^ 


•HARK  THERE  TO  DAFFODIL,  HARK,  HARK!' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  i6: 

Hark  there,  to  Daffodil,  hark,  hark." 
The  mild  horn's  note,  the  soft  flaked  spark 
Of  music,  fell  on  that  rank  scent. 
From  heart  to  wild  heart  magic  went. 
The  whimpering  quivered,  quavered,  rose. 
"Daffodil  has  it.     There  she  goes. 
O  hark  to  her."     With  wild  high  crying 
From  frantic  hearts,  the  hounds  went  flying 
To  Daffodil  for  that  rank  taint. 
A  waft  of  it  came  warm  but  faint. 
In  Robin's  mouth,  and  faded  so. 
"  First  find  a  fox,  then  let  him  go," 
Cried  Robin  Dawe.     "For  any  sake. 
Ring,  Charley,  till  you're  fit  to  break." 
He  cheered  his  beauties  like  a  lover 
And  charged  beside  them  into  cover. 


PART  TWO— THE  FOX 


167 


On  old  Cold  Crendon's  windy  tops 

Grows  wintrily  Blown  Hilcote  Copse, 

Wind-bitten  beech  with  badger  barrows, 

Where  brocks  eat  wasp-grubs  with  their  marrows. 

And  foxes  lie  on  short-grassed  turf. 

Nose  between  paws,  to  hear  the  surf 

Of  wind  in  the  beeches  drowsily. 

There  was  our  fox  bred  lustily 

Three  years  before,  and  there  he  berthed 

169 


I/O  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Under  the  beech-roots  snugly  earthed, 
With  a  roof  of  flint  and  a  floor  of  chalk 
And  ten  bitten  hens'  heads  each  on  its  stalk, 
Some  rabbits'  paws,  some  fur  from  scuts, 
A  badger's  corpse  and  a  smell  of  guts.  - 
And  there  on  the  night  before  my  tale 
He  trotted  out  for  a  point  in  the  vale. 
He  saw,  from  the  cover  edge,  the  valley 
Go  trooping  down  with  its  droops  of  sally 
To  the  brimming  river's  lipping  bend, 
And  a  light  in  the  inn  at  Water's  End. 
He  heard  the  owl  go  hunting  by 
And  the  shriek  of  the  mouse  the  owl  made  die, 
And  the  purr  of  the  owl  as  he  tore  the  red 
Strings  from  between  his  claws  and  fed ; 
The  smack  of  joy  of  the  horny  lips 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  171 

Marbled  green  with  the  blobby  strips. 

He  saw  the  farms  where  the  dogs  were  barking, 

Cold  Crendon  Court  and  Copsecote  Larking; 

The  fault  with  the  spring  as  bright  as  gleed, 

Green-slash-laced  with  water  weed. 

A  glare  in  the  sky  still  marked  the  town. 

Though  all  folk  slept  and  the  blinds  were  down, 

The  street  lamps  watched  the  empty  square, 

The  night-cat  sang  his  evil  there. 

The  fox's  nose  tipped  up  and  round 

Since  smell  is  a  part  of  sight  and  sound. 

Delicate  smells  were  drifting  by, 

The  sharp  nose  flaired  them  heedfully  : 

Partridges  in  the  clover  stubble. 

Crouched  in  a  ring  for  the  stoat  to  nubble. 

Rabbit  bucks  beginning  to  box ; 


He  saw  the  farms  where  the  dogs  were  barking. 
Cold  Crendon  Court  and  Copsecote  Larking. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  173 

A  scratching  place  for  the  pheasant  cocks ; 
A  hare  in  the  dead  grass  near  the  drain, 
And  another  smell  like  the  spring  again. 
A  faint  rank  taint  like  April  coming, 
It  cocked  his  ears  and  his  blood  went  drumming, 
For  somewhere  out  by  Ghost  Heath  Stubs 
Was  a  roving  vixen  wanting  cubs.. 


THE  ROVING 


I7S 


Over  the  valley,  floating  faint 

On  a  warmth  of  windflaw  came  the  taint, 

He  cocked  his  ears,  he  upped  his  brush, 

And  he  went  up  wind  like  an  April  thrush. 

By  the  Roman  Road  to  Braiches  Ridge 

Where  the  fallen  willow  makes  a  bridge, 

Over  the  brook  by  White  Hart's  Thorn, 

To  the  acres  thin  with  pricking  corn. 

Over  the  sparse  green  hair  of  the  wheat, 

By  the  Clench  Brook  Mill  at  Clench  Brook  Leat, 

Through  Cowfoot  Pastures  to  Nonely  Stevens, 

And  away  to  Poltrewood  St.  Jevons. 

Past  Tott  Hill  Down  all  snaked  with  menses, 

Past  Clench  St.  Michael  and  Naunton  Crucis, 
N  177 


178 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Past  Howie's  Oak  Farm  where  the  raving  brain 
Of  a  dog  who  heard  him  foamed  his  chain, 
Then  off,  as  the  farmer's  window  opened, 
Past  Stonepits  Farm  to  Upton  Hope  End ; 
Over  short  sweet  grass  and  worn  flint  arrows. 
And  the  three  dumb  hows  of  Tencombe  Barrows ; 
And  away  and  away  with  a  rolling  scramble. 
Through  the  blackthorn  and  up  the  bramble, 


•|jlifiiiii£Hfiiii?x,-  f^^  ^qa:!ys^yBpy«fftiwiiiiii;iia|iT^ 


i;l»)  V  .MMf.  • 


;«rV. 


'   '      I'.r'^ 


,a;#s/  ^tiM'-  *« 


^m^'   ^'Mj '■■■''> 


irv 


s.^; 


-^ai 


If  , 


f/^ 


^^f 


c,  &  «\<?f^ev^-'v~ 


?.     ■;<■;>■, 


■OVER  THE  VALLEY,    ILOATING  FAINT 
ON    A  WARMTH   OF  WINDFLAW,  CAME   THE   TAINT." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  179 

With  a  nose  for  the  smells  the  night  wind  carried, 
And  his  red  fell  clean  for  being  married. 
For  clicketting  time  and  Ghost  Heath  Wood 
Had  put  the  violet  in  his  blood. 

At  Tencombe  Rings  near  the  Manor  Linney, 
His  foot  made  the  great  black  stallion  whinny, 
And  the  stallion's  whinny  aroused  the  stable 
And  the  bloodhound  bitches  stretched  their  cable, 
And  the  clink  of  the  bloodhound's  chain  aroused 
The    sweet-breathed    kye    as    they    chewed    and 

drowsed. 
And  the  stir  of  the  cattle  changed  the  dream 
Of  the  cat  in  the  loft  to  tense  green  gleam. 
The  red-wattled  black  cock  hot  from  Spain 
Crowed  from  his  perch  for  dawn  again. 


l8o  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

His  breast-pufft  hens,  one-legged  on  perch, 
Gurgled,  beak-down,  like  men  in  church. 
They  crooned  in  the  dark,  lifting  one  red  eye 
In  the  raftered  roost  as  the  fox  went  by. 

By  Tencombe  Regis  and  Slaughters  Court, 
Through  the  great  grass  square  of  Roman  Fort, 
By  Nun's  Wood  Yews  and  the  Hungry  Hill, 
And  the  Corpse  Way  Stones  all  standing  still, 
By  Seven  Springs  Mead  to  Deerlip  Brook, 
And  a  lolloping  leap  to  Water  Hook. 
Then     with     eyes     like    sparks     and     his     blood 

awoken 
Over  the  grass  to  Water's  Oaken, 
And  over  the  hedge  and  into  ride 
In  Ghost  Heath  Wood  for  his  roving  bride. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  i8l 

Before  the  dawn  he  had  loved  and  fed 
And  found  a  kennel  and  gone  to  bed 
On  a  shelf  of  grass  in  a  thick  of  gorse 
That  would  bleed  a  hound  and  blind  a  horse. 
There  he  slept  in  the  mild  west  weather 
With  his  nose  and  brush  well  tucked  together, 
He  slept  like  a  child,  who  sleeps  yet  hears 
With  the  self  who  needs  neither  eyes  nor  ears. 

He  slept  while  the  pheasant  cock  untucked 
His  head  from  his  wing,  flew  down  and  kukked. 
While    the    drove    of    the    starlings    whirred    and 

wheeled 
Out  of  the  ash-trees  into  field. 
While   with    great   black   flags   that   flogged   and 

paddled 


There  he  slept  in  the  mild  west  weather 
With  his  nose  and  brush  well  tucked  together. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  183 

The  rooks  went  out  to  the  plough  and  straddled, 
Straddled  wide  on  the  moist  red  cheese 
Of  the  furrows  driven  at  Uppat's  Leas. 

Down  in  the  village,  men  awoke, 
The  chimneys  breathed  with  a  faint  blue  smoke, 
The  fox  slept  on,  though  tweaks  and  twitches, 
Due  to  his  dreams,  ran  down  his  flitches. 

The  cows  were  milked  and  the  yards  were  sluict, 
And  the  cocks  and  hens  let  out  of  roost, 
Windows  were  opened,  mats  were  beaten, 
All  men's  breakfasts  were  cooked  and  eaten, 
But  out  in  the  gorse  on  the  grassy  shelf, 
The  sleeping  fox  looked  after  himself. 


184 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Deep  in  his  dream  he  heard  the  life 
Of  the  woodland  seek  for  food  or  wife, 
The  hop  of  a  stoat,  a  buck  that  thumped, 
The  squeal  of  a  rat  as  a  weasel  jumped, 
The  blackbird's  chackering  scattering  crying, 
The  rustling  bents  from  the  rabbits  flying, 
Cows  in  a  byre,  and  distant  men. 
And  Condicote  church-clock  striking  ten. 


The  boy's  sweet  whistle  and  dog's  quick  yap 
Woke  the  fox  from  out  of  his  nap. 


186  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

At  eleven  o'clock  a  boy  went  past, 
With  a  rough-haired  terrier  following  fast. . 
The  boy's  sweet  whistle  and  dog's  quick  yap 
Woke  the  fox  from  out  of  his  nap. 


SCENT 


tB7 


He  rose  and  stretched  till  the  claws  in  his  pads 
Stuck  homily  out  like  long  black  gads, 
He  listened  a  while,  and  his  nose  went  round 
To  catch  the  smell  of  the  distant  sound. 

The  windward  smells  came  free  from  taint 

They  were  rabbit,  strongly,  with  lime-kiln,  faint, 

A  wild-duck,  likely,  at  Sars  Holt  Pond, 

And  sheep  on  the  Sars  Holt  Down  beyond. 

The  lee-ward  smells  were  much  less  certain 

For  the  Ghost  Heath  Hill  was  like  a  curtain, 

Yet  vague,  from  the  lee-ward,  now  and  then, 

Came  muffled  sounds  like  the  sound  of  men. 

189 


I90  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  moved  to  his  right  to  a  clearer  space, 
And  all  his  soul  came  into  his  face, 
Into  his  eyes  and  into  his  nose, 
As  over  the  hill  a  murmur  rose. 

His  ears  were  cocked  and  his  keen  nose  flaired. 
He  sneered  with  his  lips  till  his  teeth  were  bared, 
He  trotted  right  and  lifted  a  pad 
Trying  to  test  what  foes  he  had. 


SOUND 


191 


On  Ghost  Heath  turf  was  a  steady  drumming 

Which  sounded  like  horses  quickly  coming, 

It  died  as  the  hunt  went  down  the  dip, 

Then  Malapert  yelped  at  Myngs's  whip. 

A  bright  iron  horseshoe  clinkt  on  stone, 

Then  a  man's  voice  spoke,  not  one  alone, 

Then  a  burst  of  laughter,  swiftly  still. 

Muffled  away  by  Ghost  Heath  Hill. 

Then,  indistinctly,  the  clop,  clip,  clep, 

On  Brady  Ride,  of  a  horse's  step. 

Then  silence,  then,  in  a  burst,  much  clearer, 

.  Voices  and  horses  coming  nearer, 

And  another  noise,  of  a  pit-pat  beat 

On  the  Ghost  Hill  grass,  of  foxhound  feet. 
o  193 


194  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  sat  on  his  haunches  listening  hard, 
While  his  mind  went  over  the  compass  card, 
Men  were  coming  and  rest  was  done, 
But  he  still  had  time  to  get  fit  to  run ; 
He  could  outlast  horse  and  outrace  hound, 
But  men  were  devils  from  Lobs's  Pound. 
Scent  was  burning,  the  going  good 
The  world  one  lust  for  a  fox's  blood, 
The  main  earths  stopped  and  the  drains  put-to. 
And  fifteen  miles  to  the  land  he  knew. 
But  of  all  the  ills,  the  ill  least  pleasant 
Was  to  run  in  the  light  when  men  were  present. 
Men  in  the  fields  to  shout  and  sign 
For  a  lift  of  hounds  to  a  fox's  line. 
Men  at  the  earth  at  the  long  point's  end, 
Men  at  each  check  and  none  his  friend, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


I9S 


Guessing  each  shift  that  a  fox  contrives, 
But  still,  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives. 


He  readied  himself,  then  a  soft  horn  blew, 
Then  a  clear  voice  carolled  "Ed-hoick.     Eleu." 
Then    the    wood-end    rang   with    the    clear    voice 

crying 
And  the  crackle  of  scrub  where  hounds  were  trying. 


196 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Then,    the    horn    blew    nearer,    a    hound's    voice 

quivered, 
Then  another,  then  more,  till  his  body  shivered. 
He  left  his  kennel  and  trotted  thence 
With  his  ears  flexed  back  and  his  nerves  all  tense. 
He  trotted  down  with  his  nose  intent 
For  a  fox's  line  to  cross  his  scent, 
It  was  only  fair  (he  being  a  stranger) 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  197 

That  the  native  fox  should  have  the  danger. 
Danger  was  coming,  so  swift,  so  swift. 
That  the  pace  of  his  trot  began  to  Hft 
The  blue-winged  Judas,  a  jay,  began 
Swearing,  hounds  whimpered,  air  stank  of  man. 

He  hurried  his  trotting,  he  now  felt  frighted, 
It  was  his  poor  body  made  hounds  excited. 
He  felt  as  he  ringed  the  great  wood  through 
That  he  ought  to  make  for  the  land  he  knew. 

Then     the     hounds'     excitement     quivered     and 

quickened. 
Then  a  horn  blew  death  till  his  marrow  sickened 
Then  the  wood  behind  was  a  crash  of  cry 
For  the  blood  in  his  veins ;   it  made  him  fly. 


198  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

They  were  on  his  line ;  it  was  death  to  stay, 
He  must  make  for  home  by  the  shortest  way, 
But  with  all  this  yelling  and  all  this  wrath 
And  all  these  devils,  how  find  a  path  ? 

He  ran  like  a  stag  to  the  wood's  north  corner, 
Where  the  hedge  was  thick  and  the  ditch  a  yawner. 
But  the  scarlet  glimpse  of  Myngs  on  Turk, 
Watching  the  woodside,  made  him  shirk. 

He  ringed  the  wood  and  looked  at  the  south. 
What  wind  there  was  blew  into  his  mouth. 
But  close  to  the  woodland's  blackthorn  thicket 
Was  Dansey,  still  as  a  stone,  on  picket. 
At  Dansey's  back  were  a  twenty  more 
Watching  the  cover  and  pressing  fore. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


199 


The  fox  drew  in  and  flaired  with  his  muzzle. 
Death  was  there  if  he  messed  the  puzzle. 
There  were  men  without  and  hounds  within, 
A  crying  that  stiffened  the  hair  on  skin, 
Teeth  in  cover  and  death  without, 
Both  deaths  coming,  and  no  way  out. 


FOUND 


His  nose  ranged  swiftly,  his  heart  beat  fast. 
Then  a  crashing  cry  rose  up  in  a  blast, 
Then  horse  hooves  trampled,  then  horses'  flitches 
Burst  their  way  through  the  hazel  switches, 
Then  the  horn  again  made  the  hounds  like  mad, 
And  a  man,  quite  near,  said  "Found,  by  Gad," 
And  a  man,  quite  near,  said  "Now  he'll  break. 
Lark's  Leybourne  Copse  is  the  line  he'll  take." 
And    the    men    moved    up    with    their    talk    and 

stink 
And  the  traplike  noise  of  the  horseshoe  clink. 
Men  whose  coming  meant  death  from  teeth 

In  a  worrying  wrench  with  him  beneath. 

203 


204 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


The  fox  sneaked  down  by  the  cover  side, 
(With  his  ears  flexed  back)  as  a  snake  would  glide, 
He  took  the  ditch  at  the  cover-end. 
He  hugged  the  ditch  as  his  only  friend. 
The  blackbird  cock  with  the  golden  beak 
Got  out  of  his  way  with  a  jabbering  shriek, 
And  the  shriek  told  Tom  on  the  raking  bay 
That  for  eighteen  pence  he  was  gone  away. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  205 

He  ran  in  the  hedge  in  the  triple  growth 
Of  bramble  and  hawthorn,  glad  of  both, 
Till  a  couple  of  fields  were  past,  and  then 
Came  the  living  death  of  the  dread  of  men. 

Then,  as  he  listened,  he  heard  a  "Hoy," 

Tom  Dansey's  horn  and  "Awa-wa-woy." 

Then  all  hounds  crying  with  all  their  forces, 

Then  a  thundering  down  of  seventy  horses. 

Robin  Dawe's  horn  and  halloos  of  "Hey 

Hark  Hollar,  Hoik"  and  "Gone  away," 

"Hark  Hollar  Hoik,"  and  the  smack  of  a  whip, 

A  yelp  as  a  tail  hound  caught  the  clip. 

"Hark  Hollar,  Hark  Hollar";   then  Robin  made 

Pip  go  crash  through  the  cut-and-laid, 

Hounds  were  over  and  on  his  line 


2o6  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

With  a  head  Hke  bees  upon  Tipple  Tine. 
The  sound  of  the  nearness  sent  a  flood 
Of  terror  of  death  through  the  fox's  blood. 
He  upped  his  brush  and  he  cocked  his  nose, 
And  he  went  up  wind  as  a  racer  goes. 


AWAY 


207 


Bold  Robin  Dawe  was  over  first, 

Cheering  his  hounds  on  at  the  burst ; 

The  field  were  spurring  to  be  in  it, 

"Hold  hard,  sirs,  give  them  half  a  minute," 

Came  from  Sir  Peter  on  his  white. 

The  hounds  went  romping  with  delight 
p  209 


2IO  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Over  the  grass  and  got  together ; 
The  tail  hounds  galloped  hell-for-leather 
After  the  pack  at  Myngs's  yell ; 
A  cry  like  every  kind  of  bell 
Rang  from  these  rompers  as  they  raced. 

The  riders  thrusting  to  be  placed, 

Jammed  down  their  hats  and  shook  their  horses, 

The  hounds  romped  past  with  all  their  forces, 

They  crashed  into  the  blackthorn  fence ; 

The  scent  was  heavy  on  their  sense, 

So  hot  it  seemed  the  living  thing, 

It  made  the  blood  within  them  sing, 

Gusts  of  it  made  their  hackles  rise, 

Hot  gulps  of  it  were  agonies 

Of  joy,  and  thirst  for  blood,  and  passion. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  211 

"Forrard,"  cried  Robin,  "that's  the  fashion." 

He  raced  beside  his  pack  to  cheer. 

The  field's  noise  died  upon  his  ear, 

A  faint  horn,  far  behind,  blew  thin 

In  cover,  lest  some  hound  were  in. 

Then  instantly  the  great  grass  rise 

Shut  field  and  cover  from  his  eyes, 

He  and  his  racers  were  alone. 

"A  dead  fox  or  a  broken  bone," 

Said  Robin,  peering  for  his  prey. 

The  rise,  which  shut  his  field  away, 

Shewed  him  the  vale's  great  map  spread  out, 

The  downs'  lean  flank  and  thrusting  snout, 

Pale  pastures,  red-brown  plough,  dark  wood, 

Blue  distance,  still  as  solitude. 

Glitter  of  water  here  and  there, 


212  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

The  trees  so  delicately  bare. 
The  dark  green  gorse  and  bright  green  holly. 
"O  glorious  God,"  he  said,  "how  jolly." 
And  there,  down  hill,  two  fields  ahead, 
The  lolloping  red  dog-fox  sped 
Over  Poor  Pastures  to  the  brook. 
He  grasped  these  things  in  one  swift  look 
Then  dived  into  the  bulfinch  heart 
Through  thorns  that  ripped  his  sleeves  apart 
And  skutched  new  blood  upon  his  brow. 
"His  point's  Lark's  Leybourne  Covers  now," 
Said  Robin,  landing  with  a  grunt, 
"Forrard,  my  beautifuls." 

The  hunt 
Followed  down  hill  to  race  with  him, 
White  Rabbit  with  his  swallow's  skim, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  213 

Drew  within  hail,  "Quick  burst,  Sir  Peter." 
"A  traveller.     Nothing  could  be  neater. 
Making  for  Godsdown  clumps,  I  take  it  ? " 
"Lark's  Leybourne,  sir,  if  he  can  make  it. 
Forrard." 


THE  FIELD 


2IS 


Bill  Ridden  thundered  down  ; 
His  big  mouth  grinned  beneath  his  frown, 
The  hounds  were  going  away  from  horses. 
He  saw  the  glint  of  water-courses, 
Yell  Brook  and  Wittold's  Dyke  ahead, 
His  horse  shoes  sliced  the  green  turf  red. 
Young  Cothill's  chaser  rushed  and  passt  him. 
Nob  Manor,  running  next,  said  "Blast  him. 
That  poet  chap  who  thinks  he  rides." 
Hugh  Colway's  mare  made  straking  strides 
Across  the  grass,  the  Colonel  next : 
Then  Squire  volleying  oaths  and  vext, 
Fighting  his  hunter  for  refusing : 

Bell  Ridden  like  a  cutter  cruising 

217 


2l8  REYNARDTHEFOX 

Sailing  the  grass,  then  Cob  on  Warder, 
Then  Minton  Price  upon  Marauder ; 
Ock  Gumey  with  his  eyes  intense, 
Burning  as  with  a  different  sense. 
His  big  mouth  muttering  glad  "by  damns"  ; 
Then  Pete  crouched  down  from  head  to  hams, 
Rapt  like  a  saint,  bright  focussed  flame. 
Bennett  with  devils  in  his  wame 
Chewing  black  cud  and  spitting  slanting ; 
Copse  scattering  jests  and  Stukely  ranting; 
Sal  Ridden  taking  line  from  Dansey ; 
Long  Robert  forcing  Necromancy ; 
A  dozen  more  with  bad  beginnings  ; 
Myngs  riding  hard  to  snatch  an  innings, 
A  wild  last  hound  with  high  shrill  yelps. 
Smacked  forrard  with  some  whip-thong  skelps. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  219 

Then  last  of  all,  at  top  of  rise, 
The  crowd  on  foot  all  gasps  and  eyes 
The  run  up  hill  had  winded  them. 

They  saw  the  Yell  Brook  like  a  gem 

Blue  in  the  grass  a  short  mile  on, 

They  heard  faint  cries,  but  hounds  were  gone 

A  good  eight  fields  and  out  of  sight 

Except  a  rippled  glimmer  white 

Going  away  with  dying  cheering 

And  scarlet  flappings  disappearing, 

And  scattering  horses  going,  going, 

Going  like  mad,  White  Rabbit  snowing 

Far  on  ahead,  a  loose  horse  taking. 

Fence  after  fence  with  stirrups  shaking, 

And  scarlet  specks  and  dark  specks  dwindling. 


220 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


Nearer,  were  twigs  knocked  into  kindling, 
A  much  bashed  fence  still  dropping  stick, 
Flung  clods,  still  quivering  from  the  kick, 
Cut  hoof-marks  pale  in  cheesy  clay, 
The  horse-smell  blowing  clean  away. 
Birds  flitting  back  into  the  cover. 
One  last  faint  cry,  then  all  was  over. 
The  hunt  had  been,  and  found,  and  gone. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  221 

At  Neakings  Farm,  three  furlongs  on, 
Hounds  raced  across  the  Waysmore  Road, 
Where  many  of  the  riders  slowed 
To  tittup  down  a  grassy  lane, 
Which  led  as  hounds  led  in  the  main 
And  gave  no  danger  of  a  fall. 
There,  as  they  tittupped  one  and  all, 
Big  Twenty  Stone  came  scattering  by. 
His  great  mare  made  the  hoof-casts  fly. 
"By  leave,"  he  cried.     "Come  on.     Come  up. 
This  fox  is  running  like  a  tup ; 
Let's  leave  this  lane  and  get  to  terms. 
No  sense  in  crawling  here  like  worms. 
Come,  let  me  past  and  let  me  start, 
This  fox  is  running  like  a  hart, 
And  this  is  going  to  be  a  run. 


He  faced  the  fence  and  put  her  through  it 
Shielding  his  eyes  lest  spikes  should  blind  him. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  223 

Come  on.     I  want  to  see  the  fun. 
Thanky.     By  leave.     Now,  Maiden  ;    do  it." 
He  faced  the  fence  and  put  her  through  it 
Shielding  his  eyes  lest  spikes  should  blind  him, 
The  crashing  blackthorn  closed  behind  him. 
Mud-scatters  chased  him  as  he  scudded. 
His  mare's  ears  cocked,  her  neat  feet  thudded. 


THE  RUN 


225 


The  kestrel  cruising  over  meadow 
Watched  the  hunt  gallop  on  his  shadow, 
Wee  figures,  almost  at  a  stand, 
Crossing  the  multi-coloured  land, 
Slow  as  a  shadow  on  a  dial. 

Some  horses,  swerving  at  a  trial. 

Baulked  at  a  fence :    at  gates  they  bunched. 

The  mud  about  the  gates  was  dunched. 

Like  German  cheese ;    men  pushed  for  places, 

And  kicked  the  mud  into  the  faces 

Of  those  who  made  them  room  to  pass. 

The  half-mile's  gallop  on  the  grass. 

Had  tailed  them  out,  and  warmed  their  blood. 

227 


228 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


"His  point's  the  Banner  Barton  Wood." 
"That,  or  Goat's  Gorse."     "A  stinger,  this." 
"You're  right  in  that ;    by  Jove  it  is." 
"An  up-wind  travelling  fox,  by  George." 
"They  say  Tom  viewed  him  at  the  forge." 
"Well,  let  me  pass  and  let's  be  on." 


They  crossed  the  lane  to  Tolderton, 
The  hill-marl  died  to  valley  clay. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


229 


And  there  before  them  ran  the  grey 
Yell  Water,  swirling  as  it  ran, 
The  Yell  Brook  of  the  hunting  man. 
The  hunters  eyed  it  and  were  grim. 
They  saw  the  water  snaking  slim 
Ahead,  like  silver ;   they  could  see 
(Each  man)  his  pollard  willow  tree 
Firming  the  bank,  they  felt  their  horses 


230  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Catch  the  gleam's  hint  and  gather  forces ; 
They  heard  the  men  behind  draw  near. 
Each  horse  was  trembling  as  a  spear 
Trembles  in  hand  when  tense  to  hurl, 
They  saw  the  brimmed  brook's  eddies  curl. 
The  willow-roots  like  water-snakes  ; 
The  beaten  holes  the  ratten  makes, 
They  heard  the  water's  rush  ;   they  heard 
Hugh  Colway's  mare  come  like  a  bird ; 
A  faint  cry  from  the  hounds  ahead, 
Then  saddle-strain,  the  bright  hooves'  tread. 
Quick  words,  the  splash  of  mud,  the  launch, 
The  sick  hope  that  the  bank  be  staunch. 
Then  Souse,  with  Souse  to  left  and  right. 
Maroon  across.  Sir  Peter's  white 
Down  but  pulled  up,  Tom  over,  Hugh 


r^j'^'^pi: 


m^'^-^ 


'THEN   SOUSE,   WITH   SOUSE  TO   LEFT  AND  RIGHT." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  231 

Mud  to  the  hat  but  over,  too, 
Well  splashed  by  Squire  who  was  in. 

With  draggled  pink  stuck  close  to  skin. 
The  Squire  leaned  from  bank  and  hauled 
His  mired  horse's  rein ;    he  bawled 
For  help  from  each  man  racing  by. 
"What,  help  you  pull  him  out  ?     Not  I. 
What  made  you  pull  him  in  ?"    they  said. 
Nob  Manor  cleared  and  turned  his  head, 
And  cried  "Wade  up.     The  ford's  upstream." 
Ock  Gurney  in  a  cloud  of  steam 
Stood  by  his  dripping  cob  and  wrung 
The  taste  of  brook  mud  from  his  tongue 
And  scraped  his  poor  cob's  pasterns  clean. 
"Lord,  what  a  crowner  we've  a  been, 


232  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

This  jumping  brook's  a  mucky  job." 
He  muttered,  grinning,  "Lord,  poor  cob. 
Now  sir,  let  me."     He  turned  to  Squire 
And  cleared  his  hunter  from  the  mire 
By  skill  and  sense  and  strength  of  arm. 


FULL  CRY 


»33 


Meanwhile  the  fox  passed  Nonesuch  Farm, 
Keeping  the  spinney  on  his  right. 
Hounds  raced  him  here  with  all  their  might 
Along  the  short  firm  grass,  like  fire. 
The  cowman  viewed  him  from  the  byre 
Lolloping  on,  six  fields  ahead, 
Then  hounds,  still  carrying  such  a  head, 
It  made  him  stare,  then  Rob  on  Pip, 
Sailing  the  great  grass  like  a  ship. 
Then  grand  Maroon  in  all  his  glory 
Sweeping  his  strides,  his  great  chest  hoary 
With  foam  fleck  and  the  pale  hill-marl. 
They  strode  the  Leet,  they  flew  the  Snarl, 
They  knocked  the  nuts  at  Nonesuch  Mill, 


23S 


236  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Raced  up  the  spur  of  Gallows  Hill 
And  viewed  him  there.     The  line  he  took 
Was  Tineton  and  the  Pantry  Brook, 
Going  like  fun  and  hounds  like  mad. 
Tom  glanced  to  see  what  friends  he  had 
Still  within  sight,  before  he  turned 
The  ridge's  shoulder ;   he  discerned, 
One  field  away,  young  Cothill  sailing 
Easily  up.     Pete  Gurney  failing, 
Hugh  Colway  quartering  on  Sir  Peter, 
Bill  waiting  on  the  mare  to  beat  her, 
Sal  Ridden  skirting  to  the  right. 
A  horse,  with  stirrups  flashing  bright 
Over  his  head  at  every  stride, 
Looked  like  the  Major's  ;   Tom  espied 
Far  back,  a  scarlet  speck  of  man 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  237 

Running,  and  straddling  as  he  ran. 
Charles  Copse  was  up,  Nob  Manor  followed. 
Then  Bennett's  big-boned  black  that  wallowed 
Clumsy,  but  with  the  strength  of  ten. 
Then  black  and  brown  and  scarlet  men, 
Brown  horses,  white  and  black  and  grey ' 
Scattered  a  dozen  fields  away. 
The  shoulder  shut  the  scene  away. 

From  the  Gallows  Hill  to  the  Tineton  Copse 
There  were  ten  ploughed  fields  like  ten  full  stops. 
All  wet  red  clay  where  a  horse's  foot 
Would  be  swathed,   feet  thick,   like  an   ash-tree 

root. 
The  fox  raced  on,  on  the  headlands  firm, 
Where  his  swift  feet  scared  the  coupling  worm. 


238  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

The  rooks  rose  raving  to  curse  him  raw 
He  snarled  a  sneer  at  their  swoop  and  caw. 
Then  on,  then  on,  down  a  half  ploughed  field 
Where  a  ship-like  plough  drave  glitter-keeled, 
With  a  bay  horse  near  and  a  white  horse  leading, 
And   a   man   saying   "Zook"   and   the   red   earth 

bleeding. 
He  gasped  as  he  saw  the  ploughman  drop 
The  stilts  and  swear  at  the  team  to  stop. 
The  ploughman  ran  in  his  red  clay  clogs 
Crying  "Zick  un,  Towzer;    zick,  good  dogs." 
A  couple  of  wire-haired  lurchers  lean 
Arose  from  his  wallet,  nosing  keen ; 
With  a  rushing  swoop  they  were  on  his  track, 
Putting  chest  to  stubble  to  bite  his  back. 
He  swerved  from  his  line  with  the  curs  at  heel, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


239 


The  teeth  as  they  missed  him  clicked  like  steel, 
With  a  worrying  snarl,  they  quartered  on  him, 
While  the  ploughman  shouted  "Zick;    upon  him.' 
The  lurcher  dogs  soon  shot  their  bolt, 
And  the  fox  raced  on  by  the  Hazel  Holt, 
Down  the  dead  grass  tilt  to  the  sandstone  gash 
Of  the  Pantry  Brook  at  Tineton  Ash. 
The  loitering  water,  flooded  full, 


240  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Had  yeast  on  its  lip  like  raddled  wool, 
It  was  wrinkled  over  with  Arab  script 
Of  eddies  that  twisted  up  and  slipt. 
The  stepping  stones  had  a  rush  about  them 
So  the  fox  plunged  in  and  swam  without  them. 

He  crossed  to  the  cattle's  drinking  shallow 
Firmed  up  with  rush  and  the  roots  of  mallow, 
He  wrung  his  coat  from  his  draggled  bones 
And  romped  away  for  the  Sarsen  Stones. 

A  sneaking  glance  with  his  ears  flexed  back, 
Made  sure  that  his  scent  had  failed  the  pack, 
For  the  red  clay,  good  for  corn  and  roses, 
Was  cold  for  scent  and  brought  hounds  to  noses. 
He  slackened  pace  by  the  Tineton  Tree, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  241 

(A  vast  hollow  ash-tree  grown  in  three), 
He  wriggled  a  shake  and  padded  slow, 
Not  sure  if  the  hounds  were  on  or  no. 

A  horn  blew  faint,  then  he  heard  the  sounds 
Of  a  cantering  huntsman,  lifting  hounds. 
The  ploughman  had  raised  his  hat  for  sign. 
And  the  hounds  were  lifted  and  on  his  line. 
He  heard  the  splash  in  the  Pantry  Brook, 
And  a  man's  voice :    "Thiccy's  the  line  he  took," 
And  a  clear  "Yoi  doit"  and  a  whimpering  quaver, 
Though  the  lurcher  dogs  had  dulled  the  savour. 

The  fox  went  off  while  the  hounds  made  halt, 
And  the  horses  breathed  and  the  field  found  fault. 
But  the  whimpering  rose  to  a  crying  crash 


242  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

By  the  hollow  ruin  of  Tineton  Ash. 
Then  again  the  kettle  drum  horse  hooves  beat, 
And  the  green  blades  bent  to  the  fox's  feet 
And  the  cry  rose  keen  not  far  behind 
Of  the  "Blood,  blood,  blood"  in  the  fox-hounds' 
mind. 


The  fox  was  strong,  he  was  full  of  running, 
He  could  run  for  an  hour  and  then  be  cunning, 
But  the  cry  behind  him  made  him  chill, 
They  were  nearer  now  and  they  meant  to  kill. 
They  meant  to  run  him  until  his  blood 
Clogged  on  his  heart  as  his  brush  with  mud, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  243 

Till  his  back  bent  up  and  his  tongue  hung  flagging, 
And    his    belly    and     brush    were    filthed    from 

dragging. 
Till  he  crouched  stone  still,  dead-beat  and  dirty, 
With  nothing  but  teeth  against  the  thirty. 
And  all  the  way  to  that  blinding  end 
He  would  meet  with  men  and  have  none  his  friend. 
Men  to  holloa  and  men  to  run  him, 
With  stones  to  stagger  and  yells  to  stun  him, 
Men  to  head  him,  with  whips  to  beat  him, 
Teeth  to  mangle  and  mouths  to  eat  him. 
And  all  the  way,  that  wild  high  crying. 
To  cold  his  blood  with  the  thought  of  dying. 
The    horn    and    the    cheer,     and    the    drum-like 

thunder. 
Of  the  horse  hooves  stamping  the  meadows  under. 


244  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  upped  his  brush  and  went  with  a  will 
For  the  Sarsen  Stones  on  Wan  Dyke  Hill. 

As  he  ran  the  meadow  by  Tineton  Church, 

A  christening  party  left  the  porch. 

They  stood  stock  still  as  he  pounded  by, 

They  wished  him  luck  but  they  thought  he'd  die. 

The  toothless  babe  in  his  long  white  coat 

Looked  delicate  meat,  the  fox  took  note ; 

But  the   sight  of  them   grinning  there,   pointing 

finger, 
Made  him  put  on  steam  till  he  went  a  stinger. 

Past  Tineton  Church  over  Tineton  Waste, 
With  the  lolloping  ease  of  a  fox's  haste, 
The  fur  on  his  chest  blown  dry  with  the  air, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  245 

His  brush  still  up  and  his  cheek-teeth  bare. 
Over  the  Waste  where  the  ganders  grazed, 
The  long  swift  lilt  of  his  loping  lazed, 
His  ears  cocked  up  as  his  blood  ran  higher, 
He  saw  his  point,  and  his  eyes  took  fire. 
The  Wan  Dyke  Hill  with  its  fir  tree  barren. 
Its  dark  of  gorse  and  its  rabbit  warren. 
The  Dyke  on  its  heave  like  a  tightened  girth. 
And  holes  in  the  Dyke  where  a  fox  might  earth. 
He  had  rabbitted  there  long  months  before, 
The  earths  were  deep  and  his  need  was  sore, 
The  way  was  new,  but  he  took  a  vearing, 
And  rushed  like  a  blown  ship  billow-sharing. 

Off  Tineton  Common  to  Tineton  Dean, 
Where  the  wind-hid  elders  pushed  with  green ; 


246  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Through  the  Dean's  thin  cover  across  the  lane, 

And  up  Midwinter  to  King  of  Spain. 

Old  Joe  at  digging  his  garden  grounds, 

Said  "A  fox,  being  hunter;    where  be  hounds  ? 

O  lord,  my  back,  to  be  young  again, 

'Stead  a  zellin  zider  in  King  of  Spain. 

O  hark,  I  hear  'em,  O  sweet,  O  sweet. 

Why  there  be  redcoat  in  Gearge's  wheat. 

And  there  be  redcoat,  and  there  they  gallop. 

Thur  go  a  browncoat  down  a  wallop. 

Quick,  Ellen,  quick,  come  Susan,  fly. 

Here'm  hounds.     I  zeed  the  fox  go  by, 

Go  by  like  thunder,  go  by  like  blasting, 

With  his  girt  white  teeth  all  looking  ghasting. 

Look  there  come  hounds.     Hark,  hear  'em  crying. 

Lord,  belly  to  stubble,  ain't  they  flying. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  247 

There's  huntsmen,  there.     The  fox  come  past 
(As  I  was  digging)  as  fast  as  fast. 
He's  only  been  gone  a  minute  by; 
A  girt  dark  dog  as  pert  as  pye." 

Ellen  and  Susan  came  out  scattering 

Brooms  and  dustpans  till  all  was  clattering; 

They  saw  the  pack  come  head  to  foot 

Running  like  racers  nearly  mute  ; 

Robin  and  Dansey  quartering  near, 

All  going  gallop  like  startled  deer. 

A  half  dozen  flitting  scarlets  shewing 

In  the  thin  green  Dean  where  the  pines  were 
growing. 

Black  coats  and  brown  coats  thrusting  and  spur- 
ring 


248  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Sending  the  partridge  coveys  whirring, 
Then  a  rattle  up  hill  and  a  clop  up  lane, 
It  emptied  the  bar  of  the  King  of  Spain. 

Tom  left  his  cider,  Dick  left  his  bitter, 
Ganfer  James  left  his  pipe  and  spitter. 
Out  they  came  from  the  sawdust  floor. 
They  said,  "They'm  going."     They  said  "0  Lor." 

The  fox  raced  on,  up  the  Barton  Balks, 
With  a  crackle  of  kex  in  the  nettle  stalks. 
Over  Hammond's  grass  to  the  dark  green  line 
Of  the  larch-wood  smelling  of  turpentine. 
Scratch  Steven  Larches,  black  to  the  sky, 
A  sadness  breathing  with  one  long  sigh. 
Grey  ghosts  of  treen  under  funeral  plumes. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  249 

A  mist  of  twig  over  soft  brown  glooms. 
As  he  entered  the  wood  he  heard  the  smacks, 
Chip-jar,  of  the  fir  pole  feller's  axe. 
He  swerved  to  the  left  to  a  broad  green  ride. 
Where  a  boy  made  him  rush  for  the  further  side. 
He  swerved  to  the  left,  to  the  Barton  Road, 
But  there  were  the  timberers  come  to  load. 
Two  timber  carts  and  a  couple  of  carters 
With  straps  round  their  knees  instead  of  garters. 
He  swerved  to  the  right,  straight  down  the  wood, 
The  carters  watched  him,  the  boy  hallooed. 
He  leaped  from  the  larch  wood  into  tillage. 
The  cobbler's  garden  of  Barton  village. 

The  cobbler  bent  at  his  wooden  foot, 
Beating  sprigs  in  a  broken  boot ; 


2SO  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  wore  old  glasses  with  thick  horn  rim, 

He  scowled  at  his  work  for  his  sight  was  dim. 

His  face  was  dingy,  his  lips  were  grey. 

From  primming  sparrowbills  day  by  day ; 

As  he  turned  his  boot  he  heard  a  noise 

At  his  garden-end  and  he  thought,  "It's  boys." 

He  saw  his  cat  nip  up  on  the  shed, 

Where   her   back   arched   up   till   it   touched   her 

head. 
He  saw  his  rabbit  race  round  and  round 
Its  little  black  box  three  feet  from  ground. 
His  six  hens  cluckered  and  flucked  to  perch, 
"That's  boys,"  said  cobbler,  "so  I'll  go  search." 
He  reached  his  stick  and  blinked  in  his  wrath, 
When  he  saw  a  fox  in  his  garden  path. 
The  fox  swerved  left  and  scrambled  out 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  251 

Knocking  crinked  green  shells  from  the  Brussels 

Sprout, 
He  scrambled  out  through  the  cobbler's  paling, 
And  up  Pill's  orchard  to  Purton's  Tailing, 
Across  the  plough  at  the  top  of  bent, 
Through  the  heaped  manure  to  kill  his  scent. 
Over  to  Aldams,  up  to  Cappells, 
Past  Nursery  Lot  with  its  white-washed  apples, 
Past  Colston's  Broom,  past  Gaunts,  past  Sheres, 
Past  Foxwhelps  Oasts  with  their  hooded  ears. 
Past  Monk's  Ash  Clerewell,  past  Beggars  Oak, 
Past  the  great  elms  blue  with  the  Plinton  smoke, 
Along  Long  Hinton  to  Hinton  Green, 
Where  the  wind-washed  steeple  stood  serene 
With  its  golden  bird  still  sailing  air. 
Past  Banner  Barton,  past  Chipping  Bare, 


252  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Past  Maddings  Hollow,  down  Dundry  Dip, 
And  up  Goose  Grass  to  the  Sailing  Ship. 

The  three  black  firs  of  the  Ship  stood  still 
On  the  bare  chalk  heave  of  the  Dundry  Hill, 
The  fox  looked  back  as  he  slackened  past 
The  scaled  red-bole  of  the  mizzen-mast. 


VIEW  HALLOO 


2S3 


There  they  were  coming,  mute  but  swift, 
A  scarlet  smear  in  the  blackthorn  rift, 
A  white  horse  rising,  a  dark  horse  flying. 
And  the  hungry  hounds  too  tense  for  crying. 
Stormcock  leading,  his  stern  spear-straight. 
Racing  as  though  for  a  piece  of  plate. 
Little  speck  horsemen  field  on  field ; 
Then  Dansey  viewed  him  and  Robin  squealed 

At  the  View  Halloo  the  hounds  went  frantic, 
Back  went  Stormcock  and  up  went  Antic, 
Up  went  Skylark  as  Antic  sped 
It  was  zest  to  blood  how  they  carried  head. 

255 


A  white  horse  rising,  a  dark  horse  flying. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  257 

Skylark  dropped  as  Maroon  drew  by, 
Their  hackles  lifted,  they  scored  to  cry. 

The  fox  knew  well,  that  before  they  tore  him, 
They  should  try  their  speed  on  the  downs  before 

him, 
There  were  three  more  miles  to  the  Wan   Dyke 

Hill, 
But  his  heart  was  high,  that  he  beat  them  still. 
The  wind  of  the  downland  charmed  his  bones 
So  off  he  went  for  the  Sarsen  Stones. 

The  moan  of  the  three  great  firs  in  the  wind. 
And  the  Ai  of  the  foxhounds  died  behind. 
Wind-dapples  followed  the  hill-wind's  breath 
On  the  Kill  Down  gorge  where  the  Danes  found 
death ; 


2S8  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Larks  scattered  up ;   the  peewits  feeding 
Rose  in  a  flock  from  the  Kill  Down  Steeding. 
The  hare  leaped  up  from  her  form  and  swerved 
Swift  left  for  the  Starveall  harebell-turved. 
On  the  wind-bare  thorn  some  longtails  prinking 
Cried    sweet,    as   though   wind   blown   glass   were 

chinking. 
Behind  came  thudding  and  loud  halloo 
Or  a  cry  from  hounds  as  they  came  to  view. 

The  pure  clean  air  came  sweet  to  his  lungs, 
Till  he  thought  foul  scorn  of  those  crying  tongues, 
In  a  three  mile  more  he  would  reach  the  haven 
In  the  Wan  Dyke  croaked  on  by  the  raven. 
In  a  three  mile  more  he  would  make  his  berth 
On  the  hard  cool  floor  of  a  Wan  Dyke  earth, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  259 

Too  deep  for  spade,  too  curved  for  terrier, 
With    the   pride   of    the   race   to   make   rest   the 

merrier. 
In  a  three  mile  more  he  would  reach  his  dream. 
So  his  game  heart  gulped  and  he  put  on  steam. 
Like  a  rocket  shot  to  a  ship  ashore. 
The  lean  red  bolt  of  his  body  tore, 
Like  a  ripple  of  wind  running  swift  on  grass. 
Like  a  shadow  on  wheat  when  a  cloud  blows  past, 
Like  a  turn  at  the  buoy  in  a  cutter  sailing, 
When  the  bright  green  gleam  lips  white   at   the 

railing. 
Like  the  April  snake  whipping  back  to  sheath. 
Like  the  gannet's  hurtle  on  fish  beneath, 
Like  a  kestrel  chasing,  like  a  sickle  reaping, 
Like  all  things  swooping,  like  all  things  sweeping, 


26o  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Like  a  hound  for  stay,  like  a  stag  for  swift, 
With  his  shadow  beside  like  spinning  drift. 
Past  the  gibbet-stock  all  stuck  with  nails. 


Where  they  hanged  in  chains  what  had  hung  at 

jails, 
Past  Ashmundshowe  where  Ashmund  sleeps, 
And  none  but  the  tumbling  peewit  weeps, 
Past  Curlew  Calling,  the  gaunt  grey  corner 
Where  the  curlew  comes  as  a  summer  mourner, 
Past  Blowbury  Beacon  shaking  his  fleece, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  261 

Where  all  winds  hurry  and  none  brings  peace, 
Then  down,  on  the  mile-long  green  decline 
Where  the  turf's  like  spring  and  the  air's  like  wine, 
Where  the  sweeping  spurs  of  the  downland  spill 
Into  Wan  Brook  Valley  and  Wan  Dyke  Hill. 

On  he  went  with  a  galloping  rally 

Past  Maesbury  Clump  for  Wan  Brook  Valley, 

The  blood  in  his  veins  went  romping  high, 

"Get  on,  on,  on  to  the  earth  or  die." 

The  air  of  the  downs  went  purely  past, 

Till  he  felt  the  glory  of  going  fast. 

Till  the  terror  of  death,  though  there  indeed. 

Was  lulled  for  a  while  by  his  pride  of  speed ; 

He  was  romping  away  from  hounds  and  hunt. 

He  had  Wan  Dyke  Hill  and  his  earth  in  front, 


262  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

In  a  one  mile  more  when  his  point  was  made, 
He  would  rest  in  safety  from  dog  or  spade ; 
Nose  between  paws  he  would  hear  the  shout 
Of  the  "gone  to  earth"  to  the  hounds  without, 
The  whine  of  the  hounds,  and  their  cat  feet  gadding. 
Scratching    the    earth,     and    their    breath    pad- 
padding. 
He  would  hear  the  horn  call  hounds  away. 
And  rest  in  peace  till  another  day. 
In  one  mile  more  he  would  lie  at  rest 
So  for  one  mile  more  he  would  go  his  best. 
He  reached  the  dip  at  the  long  droop's  end 
And  he  took  what  speed  he  had  still  to  spend. 

So  down  past  Maesbury  beech  clump  grey. 
That  would  not  be  green  till  the  end  of  May, 


\Va 


\ 


f^ 


/  -.,r 


I 


/ 


Wijm:^ 


'HE  CAPPED  THEM   ON  TILL  THEY   DID  THEIR   P.EST.' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  263 

Past  Arthur's  Table,  the  white  chalk  boulder, 
Where    pasque   flowers    purple    the    down's    grey 

shoulder, 
Past  Quichelm's  Keeping,  past  Harry's  Thorn 
To  Thirty  Acre  all  thin  with  corn. 
As  he  raced  the  corn  towards  Wan  Dyke  Brook, 
The  pack  had  view  of  the  way  he  took, 
Robin  hallooed  from  the  downland's  crest. 
He  capped  them  on  till  they  did  their  best. 
The  quarter  mile  to  the  Wan  Brook's  brink 
Was  raced  as  quick  as  a  man  can  think. 
And  here,  as  he  ran  to  the  huntsman's  yelling, 
The  fox  first  felt  that  the  pace  was  telling. 
His  body  and  lungs  seemed  all  grown  old, 
His  legs  less  certain,  his  heart  less  bold, 
The  hound-noise  nearer,  the  hill  slope  steeper, 


264 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


>>|^^% 


The  thud  in  the  blood  of  his  body  deeper, 
His  pride  in  his  speed,  his  joy  in  the  race 
Were  withered  away,  for  what  use  was  pace  ? 
He  had  run  his  best,  and  the  hounds  ran  better. 
Then  the  going  worsened,  the  earth  was  wetter. 
Then  his  brush  drooped  down  till  it   sometimes 

dragged. 
And  his  fur  felt  sick  and  his  chest  was  tagged 


REYNARDTHEFOX  265 

With  taggles  of  mud,  and  his  pads  seemed  lead, 
It  was  well  for  him  he'd  an  earth  ahead. 
Down  he  went  to  the  brook  and  over, 
Out  of  the  corn  and  into  the  clover, 
Over  the  slope  that  the  Wan  Brook  drains, 
Past  Battle  Tump  where  they  earthed  the  Danes, 
Then  up  the  hill  that  the  Wan  Dyke  rings 
Where  the  Sarsen  Stones  stand  grand  like  kings. 

Seven  Sarsens  of  granite  grim. 
As  he  ran  them  by  they  looked  at  him  ; 
As  he  leaped  the  lip  of  their  earthen  paling 
The  hounds  were  gaining  and  he  was  failing. 

He  passed  the  Sarsens,  he  left  the  spur. 
He  pressed  up  hill  to  the  blasted  fir, 


266  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  slipped  as  he  leaped  the  hedge ;   he  slithered ; 
"He's  mine,"  thought  Robin.     "He's  done;   he's 

dithered." 
At  the  second  attempt  he  cleared  the  fence, 
He  turned  half  right  where  the  gorse  was  dense, 
He  was  leading  hounds  by  a  furlong  clear. 
He  was  past  his  best,  but  his  earth  was  near. 
He  ran  up  gorse,  to  the  spring  of  the  ramp. 
The  steep  green  wall  of  the  dead  men's  camp, 
He  sidled  up  it  and  scampered  down 
To  the  deep  green  ditch  of  the  dead  men's  town. 

Within,  as  he  reached  that  soft  green  turf, 
The  wind,  blowing  lonely,  moaned  like  surf, 
Desolate  ramparts  rose  up  steep, 
On  either  side,  for  the  ghosts  to  keep. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  267 

He  raced  the  trench,  past  the  rabbit  warren, 
Close   grown   with   moss   which    the   wind   made 

barren, 
He  passed  the  spring  where  the  rushes  spread, 
And  there  in  the  stones  was  his  earth  ahead. 
One  last  short  burst  upon  failing  feet, 
There  life  lay  waiting,  so  sweet,  so  sweet, 
Rest  in  a  darkness,  balm  for  aches. 

The    earth    was    stopped.     It    was    barred    with 
stakes. 


LAST  HOPE 


260 


With  hounds  at  head  so  close  behind 
He  had  to  run  as  he  changed  his  mind. 
This  earth,  as  he  saw,  was  stopped,  but  still 
There  was  one  earth  more  on  the  Wan  Dyke  Hill. 
A  rabbit  burrow  a  furlong  on, 
He  could  kennel  there  till  the  hounds  were  gone. 
Though  his  death  seemed  near  he  did  not  blench 
He  upped  his  brush  and  he  ran  the  trench. 

He  ran  the  trench  while  the  wind  moaned  treble. 

Earth  trickled  down,  there  were  falls  of  pebble. 

Down  in  the  valley  of  that  dark  gash 

The  wind-withered  grasses  looked  like  ash. 

Trickles  of  stones  and  earth  fell  down 

271 


272  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

In  that  dark  valley  of  dead  men's  town. 
A  hawk  arose  from  a  fluff  of  feathers, 
From  a  distant  fold  came  a  bleat  of  wethers. 
He  heard  no  noise  from  the  hounds  behind 
But  the  hill-wind  moaning  like  something  blind. 

He  turned  the  bend  in  the  hill  and  there 

Was  his  rabbit-hole  with  its  mouth  worn  bare, 

But  there  with  a  gun  tucked  under  his  arm 

Was  young  Sid  Kissop  of  Purlpits  Farm, 

With  a  white  hob  ferret  to  drive  the  rabbit 

Into  a  net  which  was  set  to  nab  it. 

And  young  Jack  Cole  peered  over  the  wall 

And  loosed  a  pup  with  a  "Z'bite  en,  Saul," 

The  terrier  pup  attacked  with  a  will. 

So  the  fox  swerved  right  and  away  down  hill. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  273 

Down  from  the  ramp  of  the  Dyke  he  ran 
To  the  brackeny  patch  where  the  gorse  began, 
Into  the  gorse,  where  the  hill's  heave  hid 
The  line  he  took  from  the  eyes  of  Sid 
He  swerved  down  wind  and  ran  like  a  hare 
For  the  wind-blown  spinney  below  him  there. 

He  slipped  from  the  Gorse  to  the  spinney  dark 
(There  were  curled  grey  growths  on  the  oak  tree 

bark) 
He  saw  no  more  of  the  terrier  pup. 
But  he  heard  men  speak  and  the  hounds  come  up. 

He  crossed  the  spinney  with  ears  intent 

For  the  cry  of  hounds  on  the  way  he  went, 

His  heart  was  thumping,  the  hounds  were  near  now, 


274  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  could  make  no  sprint  at  a  cry  and  cheer  now, 
He  was  past  his  perfect,  his  strength  was  failing, 
His  brush  sag-sagged  and  his  legs  were  ailing. 
He  felt  as  he  skirted  Dead  Men's  Town, 
That  in  one  mile  more  they  would  have  him  down. 


CHECKED 


275 


Through  the  withered  oak's  wind-crouching  tops 
He  saw  men's  scarlet  above  the  copse, 
He  heard  men's  oaths,  yet  he  felt  hounds  slacken 
In  the  frondless  stalks  of  the  brittle  bracken. 


277 


2/8  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  felt  that  the  unseen  link  which  bound 

His  spine  to  the  nose  of  the  leading  hound, 

Was  snapped,  that  the  hounds  no  longer  knew 

Which  way  to  follow  nor  what  to  do ; 

That  the  threat  of  the  hound's  teeth  left  his  neck, 

They  had  ceased  to  run,  they  had  come  to  check. 

They  were  quartering  wide  on  the  Wan  Hill's  bent. 

The  terrier's  chase  had  killed  his  scent. 

He  heard  bits  chink  as  the  horses  shifted. 

He  heard  hounds  cast,  then  he  heard  hounds  lifted, 

But  there  came  no  cry  from  a  new  attack. 

His  heart  grew  steady,  his  breath  came  back. 

He  left  the  spinney  and  ran  its  edge, 

By  the  deep  dry  ditch  of  the  blackthorn  hedge, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  279 

Then  out  of  the  ditch  and  down  the  meadow, 
Trotting  at  ease  in  the  blackthorn  shadow 
Over  the  track  called  Godsdown  Road, 
To  the  great  grass  heave  of  the  gods'  abode, 
He  was  moving  now  upon  land  he  knew 
Up  Clench  Royal  and  IMorton  Tew, 
The  Pol  Brook,  Cheddesdon  and  East  Stoke  Church, 
High  Clench  St.  Lawrence  and  Tinker's  Birch, 
Land  he  had  roved  on  night  by  night. 
For  hot  blood  suckage  or  furry  bite. 
The  threat  of  the  hounds  behind  was  gone ; 
He  breathed  deep  pleasure  and  trotted  on. 
While  young  Sid  Kissop  thrashed  the  pup, 
Robin  on  Pip  came  heaving  up. 
And  found  his  pack  spread  out  at  check. 
"I'd  like  to  wring  your  terrier's  neck," 


28o  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  said,  "You  see?     He's  spoiled  our  sport. 
He's  killed  the  scent."     He  broke  off  short, 
And  stared  at  hounds  and  at  the  valley. 
No  jay  or  magpie  gave  a  rally 
Down  in  the  copse,  no  circling  rooks 
Rose  over  fields  ;    old  Joyful's  looks 
Were  doubtful  in  the  gorse,  the  pack 
Quested  both  up  and  down  and  back. 
He  watched  each  hound  for  each  small  sign. 
They  tried,  but  could  not  hit  the  line. 
The  scent  was  gone.     The  field  took  place 
Out  of  the  way  of  hounds.     The  pace 
Had  tailed  them  out ;    though  four  remained 

Sir  Peter,  on  White  Rabbit  stained 

Red  from  the  brooks.  Bill  Ridden  cheery, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  281 

Hugh  Colway  with  his  mare  dead  weary. 
The  Colonel  with  Marauder  beat. 
They  turned  towards  a  thud  of  feet ; 
Dansey,  and  then  young  Cothill  came 
(His  chestnut  mare  was  galloped  tame). 
"There's  Copse,  a  field  behind,"  he  said. 
"Those  last  miles  put  them  all  to  bed. 
They're  strung  along  the  downs  like  flies." 
Copse  and  Nob  Manor  topped  the  rise. 
"Thank  God,  a  check,"  they  said,  "at  last." 

"They  cannot  own  it;    you  must  cast," 
Sir  Peter  said.     The  soft  horn  blew, 
Tom  turned  the  hounds  up  wind ;    they  drew 
Up  wind,  down  hill,  by  spinney  side. 
They  tried  the  brambled  ditch ;    they  tried 


'Thank  God,  a  check,"  they  said,  "at  last.' 
'They  cannot  own  it;  you  must  cast." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  283 

The  swamp,  all  choked  with  bright  green  grass 
And  clumps  of  rush  and  pools  like  glass, 
Long  since,  the  dead  men's  drinking  pond. 
They  tried  the  White  Leaved  Oak  beyond, 
But  no  hound  spoke  to  it  or  feathered. 
The  horse  heads  drooped  like  horses  tethered, 
The    men    mopped    brows.       "  An    hour's    hard 

run. 
Ten  miles,"  they  said,  "we  must  have  done. 
It's  all  of  six  from  Colston's  Gorses." 
The  lucky  got  their  second  horses. 

The   time  ticked    by.      "  He's    lost,"  they  mut- 
tered. 
A  pheasant  rose.     A  rabbit  scuttered. 
Men  mopped  their  scarlet  cheeks  and  drank. 


284  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

They  drew  down  wind  along  the  bank, 
(The  Wan  Way)  on  the  hill's  south  spur, 
Grown  with  dwarf  oak  and  juniper 
Like  dwarves  alive,  but  no  hound  spoke. 
The  seepings  made  the  ground  one  soak. 
They  turned  the  spur ;   the  hounds  were  beat. 
Then  Robin  shifted  in  his  seat 
Watching  for  signs,  but  no  signs  shewed. 
"I'll  lift  across  the  Godsdown  Road, 
Beyond  the  spinney,"  Robin  said. 
Tom  turned  them  ;   Robin  went  ahead. 

Beyond  the  copse  a  great  grass  fallow 
Stretched  towards  Stoke  and  Cheddesdon  Mallow, 
A  rolling  grass  where  hounds  grew  keen. 
"Yoi  doit,  then;   this  is  where  he's  been," 


«^ 


r^M^I^ 


feSs. 


"^•*v 


i' 


■  .r-.^iv-v 


^"'^  ^' 


.  /  t .  \v:.' 


i^- 


-.      \ 

N 


•THEN    ROBIN   SHIFTED   IN  HIS  SEAT 
WATCHlNf;    FOR   SIGNS,   HUT  NO  SIGNS  SHOWED  .  .  .' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 
Said  Robin,  eager  at  their  joy. 
"Yooi,  Joyful,  lad,  yooi,  Cornerboy. 
They're  on  to  him." 


285 


ON 


287 


At  his  reminders 
The  keen  hounds  hurried  to  the  finders. 
The  finding  hounds  began  to  hurry, 
Men  jammed  their  hats  prepared  to  skurry, 
The  Ai  Ai  of  the  cry  began. 
Its  spirit  passed  to  horse  and  man, 
The  skirting  hounds  romped  to  the  cry. 
Hound  after  hound  cried  Ai  Ai  Ai, 
Till  all  were  crying,  running,  closing. 
Their  heads  well  up  and  no  heads  nosing, 
Joyful  ahead  with  spear-straight  stern. 
They  raced  the  great  slope  to  the  burn. 
Robin  beside  them,  Tom  behind. 
Pointing  past  Robin  down  the  wind. 

V  289 


290  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

For  there,  two  furlongs  on,  he  viewed 
On  Holy  Hill  or  Cheddesdon  Rood 
Just  where  the  ploughland  joined  the  grass, 
A  speck  down  the  first  furrow  pass, 
A  speck  the  colour  of  the  plough. 
"Yonder  he  goes.     We'll  have  him  now," 
He  cried.     The  speck  passed  slowly  on, 
It  reached  the  ditch,  paused,  and  was  gone. 

Then  down  the  slope  and  up  the  Rood, 
Went  the  hunt's  gallop.     Godsdown  Wood 
Dropped  its  last  oak-leaves  at  the  rally. 
Over  the  Rood  to  High  Clench  Valley 
The  gallop  led  ;   the  red-coats  scattered. 
The  fragments  of  the  hunt  were  tattered 
Over  five  fields,  ev'n  since  the  check. 


Then  down  the  slope  and  up  the  Rood, 
Went  the  hunt's  gallop. 


292  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

"A  dead  fox  or  a  broken  neck," 
Said  Robin  Dawe,  "Come  up,  the  Dane." 
The  hunter  leant  against  the  rein, 
Cocking  his  ears,  he  loved  to  see 
The  hounds  at  cry.     The  hounds  and  he 
The  chiefs  in  all  that  feast  of  pace. 

The  speck  in  front  began  to  race. 

The  fox  heard  hounds  get  on  to  his  line, 

And  again  the  terror  went  down  his  spine, 

Again  the  back  of  his  neck  felt  cold. 

From  the  sense  of  the  hound's  teeth  taking  hold. 

But  his  legs  were  rested,  his  heart  was  good, 

He  had  breath  to  gallop  to  Mourne  End  Wood, 

It  was  four  miles  more,  but  an  earth  at  end, 

So  he  put  on  pace  down  the  Rood  Hill  Bend. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


293 


Down  the  great  grass  slope  which  the  oak  trees  dot 
With  a  swerve  to  the  right  from  the  keeper's  cot, 
Over  High  Clench  brook  in  its  channel  deep, 
To  the  grass  beyond,  where  he  ran  to  sheep. 
The  sheep  formed  line  like  a  troop  of  horse, 
They  swerved,  as  he  passed,  to  front  his  course 
From  behind,  as  he  ran,  a  cry  arose, 
"See  the  sheep,  there.  Watch  them.  There  he  goes." 


294  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  ran  the  sheep  that  their  smell  might  check 
The  hounds  from  his  scent  and  save  his  neck, 
But  in  two  fields  more  he  was  made  aware 
That  the  hounds  still  ran ;    Tom  had  viewed  him 
there. 

Tom  had  held  them  on  through  the  taint  of  sheep, 

They  had  kept  his  line,  as  they  meant  to  keep, 

They  were  running  hard  with  a  burning  scent, 

And  Robin  could  see  which  way  he  went. 

The  pace  that  he  went  brought  strain  to  breath. 

He  knew  as  he  ran  that  the  grass  was  death. 

He  ran  the  slope  towards  Morton  Tew 

That  the  heave  of  the  hill  might  stop  the  view, 

Then  he  doubled  down  to  the  Blood  Brook  red, 

And  swerved  upstream  in  the  brook's  deep  bed. 


He  ran  the  sheep  that  their  smell  might  check 
The  hounds  from  his  scent  and  save  his  neck. 


296  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  splashed  the  shallows,  he  swam  the  deeps, 
He  crept  by  banks  as  a  moorhen  creeps, 
He  heard  the  hounds  shoot  over  his  line, 
And  go  on,  on,  on  towards  Cheddesdon  Zine. 

In  the  minute's  peace  he  could  slacken  speed, 
The  ease  from  the  strain  was  sweet  indeed. 
Cool  to  the  pads  the  water  flowed. 
He  reached  the  bridge  on  the  Cheddesdon  road. 

As  he  came  to  light  from  the  culvert  dim, 
Two  boys  on  the  bridge  looked  down  on  him ; 
They  were  young  Bill  Ripple  and  Harry  Meun, 
"Look,  there  be  squirrel,  a-swimmin',  see  'un." 
"Noa,  ben't  a  squirrel,  be  fox,  be  fox. 
Now,  Hal,  get  pebble,  we'll  give  en  socks." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


297 


"Get  pebble,  Billy,  dub  un  a  plaster; 
There's  for  thy  belly,  I'll  learn  ee,  master." 


The  stones  splashed  spray  in  the  fox's  eyes, 

He  raced  from  brook  in  a  burst  of  shies, 

He  ran  for  the  reeds  in  the  withy  car. 

Where  the  dead   flags  shake  and   the  wild-duck 


are. 


298  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  pushed  through  the  reeds  which  cracked  at  his 

passing, 
To  the  High  Clench  Water,  a  grey  pool  glassing, 
He  heard  Bill  Ripple  in  Cheddesdon  road 
Shout,  "This  way,  huntsman,  it's  here  he  goed." 


THE  LIFTING  HORN 


259 


The  Leu  Leu  Leu  went  the  soft  horn's  laughter, 
The  hounds  (they  had  checked)  came  romping  after, 
The  clop  of  the  hooves  on  the  road  was  plain, 
Then  the  crackle  of  reeds,  then  cries  again. 

A  whimpering  first,  then  Robin's  cheer, 
Then  the  Ai  Ai  Ai ;   they  were  all  too  near ; 
His  swerve  had  brought  but  a  minute's  rest. 
Now  he  ran  again,  and  he  ran  his  best. 

With  a  crackle  of  dead  dry  stalks  of  reed 

The  hounds  came  romping  at  topmost  speed, 

The  redcoats  ducked  as  the  great  hooves  skittered 

The  Blood  Brook's  shallows  to  sheets  that  glittered ; 

301 


302  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

With  a  cracking  whip  and  a  "Hoik,  Hoik,  Hoik, 
Forrard,"  Tom  galloped.     Bob  shouted  "Yoick." 
Like  a  running  fire  the  dead  reeds  crackled 
The  hounds'  heads  lifted,  their  necks  were  hackled. 
Tom  cried  to  Bob  as  they  thundered  through, 
"He  is  running  short,  we  shall  kill  at  Tew." 
Bob  cried  to  Tom  as  they  rode  in  team, 
"I  was  sure,  that  time,  that  he  turned  up-stream. 
As  the  hounds  went  over  the  brook  in  stride, 
I  saw  old  Daffodil  fling  to  side, 
So  I  guessed  at  once,  when  they  checked  beyond." 
The  ducks  flew  up  from  the  Morton  Pond. 
The  fox  looked  up  at  their  tailing  strings. 
He  wished  (perhaps)  that  a  fox  had  wings. 
Wings  with  his  friends  in  a  great  V  straining 
The  autumn  sky  when  the  moon  is  gaining ; 


With  a  cracking  whip  and  a  "Hoik,  Hoik,  Hoik, 
Forrard,"  Tom  galloped.     Bob  shouted  "Yoick." 


304  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

For  better  the  grey  sky's  solitude, 
Than   to   be   two   miles    from   the   Mourne    End 

Wood 
With  the  hounds  behind,  clean-trained  to  run, 
And  your  strength  half  spent  and  your  breath  half 

done. 
Better  the  reeds  and  the  sky  and  water 
Than  that  hopeless  pad  from  a  certain  slaughter. 
At  the  Morton  Pond  the  fields  began. 
Long  Tew's  green  meadows  ;  he  ran  ;   he  ran. 

First  the  six  green  fields  that  make  a  mile. 
With  the  lip-full  Clench  at  the  side  the  while, 
With  the  rooks  above,  slow-circling,  shewing 
The  world  of  men  where  a  fox  was  going ; 
The  fields  all  empty,  dead  grass,  bare  hedges, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  305 

And  the  brook's  bright  gleam  in  the  dark  of  sedges. 
To  all  things  else  he  was  dumb  and  blind, 
He  ran,  with  the  hounds  a  field  behind. 


MOURNE  END  WOOD 


307 


At  the  sixth  green  field  came  the  long  slow  climb, 

To  the  Mourne  End  Wood  as  old  as  time 

Yew  woods  dark,  where  they  cut  for  bows, 

Oak  woods  green  with  the  mistletoes, 

Dark  woods  evil,  but  burrowed  deep 

With  a  brock's  earth  strong,  where  a  fox  might  sleep. 

He  saw  his  point  on  the  heaving  hill. 

He  had  failing  flesh  and  a  reeling  will. 

He  felt  the  heave  of  the  hill  grow  stiff, 

He  saw  black  woods,  which  would  shelter  — 

If  — 

Nothing  else,  but  the  steepening  slope. 

And  a  black  line  nodding,  a  line  of  hope, 

The  line  of  the  yews  on  the  long  slope's  brow, 

309 


3IO  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

A  mile,  three-quarters,  a  half-mile  now. 
A  quarter-mile,  but  the  hounds  had  viewed. 
They  yelled  to  have  him  this  side  the  wood ; 
Robin  capped  them,  Tom  Dansey  steered  them 
With  a  "Yooi,  Yooi,  Yooi,"  Bill  Ridden  cheered 

them. 
Then  up  went  hackles  as  Shatterer  led, 
"Mob  him,"  cried  Ridden,  "the  wood's  ahead. 
Turn  him,  damn  it ;    Yooi,  beauties,  beat  him. 
O  God,  let  them  get  him ;    let  them  eat  him. 
O  God,"  said  Ridden,  "I'll  eat  him  stewed. 
If  you'll  let  us  get  him  this  side  the  wood." 

But  the  pace,  uphill,  made  a  horse  like  stone, 

The  pack  went  wild  up  the  hill  alone. 

Three  hundred  yards,  and  the  worst  was  past, 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  311 

The  slope  was  gentler  and  shorter-grassed, 
The  fox  saw  the  bulk  of  the  woods  grow  tall 
On  the  brae  ahead  like  a  barrier-wall. 
He  saw  the  skeleton  trees  show  sky, 
And  the  yew  trees  darken  to  see  him  die, 
And  the  line  of  the  woods  go  reeling  black, 
There  was  hope  in   the  woods,  and  behind,   the 
pack. 

Two  hundred  yards,  and  the  trees  grew  taller. 
Blacker,  blinder,  as  hope  grew  smaller 
Cry  seemed  nearer,  the  teeth  seemed  gripping 
Pulling  him  back,  his  pads  seemed  slipping. 
He  was  all  one  ache,  one  gasp,  one  thirsting. 
Heart  on  his  chest-bones,  beating,  bursting, 
The  hounds  were  gaining  like  spotted  pards 


312  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

And  the  wood-hedge  still  was  a  hundred  yards. 
The  wood-hedge  black  was  a  two  year,  quick 
Cut-and-laid  that  had  sprouted  thick 
Thorns  all  over,  and  strongly  plied, 
With  a  clean  red  ditch  on  the  take-off  side. 

He  saw  it  now  as  a  redness,  topped 

With  a  wattle  of  thorn-work  spiky  cropped, 

Spiky  to  leap  on,  stiff  to  force, 

No  safe  jump  for  a  failing  horse. 

But  beyond  it,  darkness  of  yews  together. 

Dark  green  plumes  over  soft  brown  feather. 

Darkness  of  woods  where  scents  were  blowing 

Strange  scents,  hot  scents,  of  wild  things  going, 

Scents  that  might  draw  these  hounds  away. 

So  he  ran,  ran,  ran  to  that  clean  red  clay. 


^-^^:^ 


///- 


K  /- 


- '  X^Vv 


y^ 


He  saw  it  now  as  a  redness,  topped 

With  a  wattle  of  thorn-work  spiky  cropped. 


314  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

Still,  as  he  ran,  his  pads  slipped  back, 
All  his  strength  seemed  to  draw  the  pack. 
The  trees  drew  over  him  dark  like  Norns, 
He  was  over  the  ditch  and  at  the  thorns. 

He  thrust  at  the  thorns,  which  would  not  yield, 
He  leaped,  but  fell,  in  sight  of  the  field, 
The  hounds  went  wild  as  they  saw  him  fall, 
The  fence  stood  stiff  like  a  Bucks  flint  wall. 

He  gathered  himself  for  a  new  attempt. 

His  life  before  was  an  old  dream  dreamt, 

All  that  he  was  was  a  blown  fox  quaking. 

Jumping  at  thorns  too  stiff  for  breaking, 

While  over  the  grass  in  crowd,  in  cry. 

Came  the  grip  teeth  grinning  to  make  him  die. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  315 

The  eyes  intense,  dull,  smouldering  red, 
The  fell  like  a  ruff  round  each  keen  head, 
The  pace  like  fire,  and  scarlet  men 
Galloping,  yelling,  "Yooi,  eat  him,  then." 
He  gathered  himself,  he  leaped,  he  reached 
The  top  of  the  hedge  like  a  fish-boat  beached, 
He  steadied  a  second  and  then  leaped  down 
To  the  dark  of  the  wood  where  bright  things  drown. 

He  swerved,  sharp  right,  under  young  green  firs. 

Robin  called  on  the  Dane  with  spurs. 

He  cried  "Come,  Dansey :    if  God's  not  good. 

We  shall  change  our  fox  in  this  Mourne  End  wood." 

Tom  cried  back  as  he  charged  like  spate, 

"Mine  can't  jump  that,  I  must  ride  to  gate." 

Robin  answered,  "I'm  going  at  him. 


3l6  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

I'll  kill  that  fox,  if  he  kills  me,  drat  him. 
We'll  kill  in  covert.     Gerr  on,  now,  Dane." 
He  gripped  him  tight  and  he  made  it  plain, 
He  slowed  him  down  till  he  almost  stood 
While  his  hounds  went  crash  into  Mourne  End 
Wood. 

Like  a  dainty  dancer  with  footing  nice, 
The  Dane  turned  side  for  a  leap  in  twice. 
He  cleared  the  ditch  to  the  red  clay  bank, 
He  rose  at  the  fence  as  his  quarters  sank. 
He  barged  the  fence  as  the  bank  gave  way 
And  down  he  came  in  a  fall  of  clay. 

Robin  jumped  off  him  and  gasped  for  breath ; 
He  said,  "That's  lost  him,  as  sure  as  death. 


■JP'-S^ 


:m 


■  v5  - 


«  V«S5*'''^ 


"HE  CLEARED  THE   DITCH   TO  THE  RED  CLAY   BANK, 
HE  ROSE  AT  THE   FENCE  AS   HIS   QUARTERS  SANK.' 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  317 

They've  over-run  him.     Come  up,  the  Dane, 
But  I'll  kill  him  yet,  if  we  ride  to  Spain." 

He  scrambled  up  to  his  horse's  back, 

He  thrust  through  cover,  he  called  his  pack, 

He  cheered  them  on  till  they  made  it  good, 

Where  the  fox  had  swerved  inside  the  wood. 

The  fox  knew  well,  as  he  ran  the  dark. 

That  the  headlong  hounds  were  past  their  mark. 

They  had  missed  his  swerve  and  had  overrun. 

But  their  devilish  play  was  not  yet  done. 


"  DONE 


319 


For  a  minute  he  ran  and  heard  no  sound, 

Then  a  whimper  came  from  a  questing  hound, 

Then  a  "This  way,  beauties,"  and  then  "Leu  Leu," 

The  floating  laugh  of  the  horn  that  blew. 

Then  the  cry  again  and  the  crash  and  rattle 

Of  the  shrubs  burst  back  as  they  ran  to  battle. 

Till  the  wood  behind  seemed  risen  from  root. 

Crying  and  crashing  to  give  pursuit, 

Till  the  trees  seemed  hounds  and  the  air  seemed  cry, 

And  the  earth  so  far  that  he  needs  but  die, 

Die  where  he  reeled  in  the  woodland  dim 

With  a  hound's  white  grips  in  the  spine  of  him ; 

For  one  more  burst  he  could  spurt,  and  then 

Wait  for  the  teeth,  and  the  wrench,  and  men. 
Y  321 


322  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

He  made  his  spurt  for  the  Mourne  End  rocks, 

The  air  blew  rank  with  the  taint  of  fox ; 

The  yews  gave  way  to  a  greener  space 

Of  great  stones  strewn  in  a  grassy  place. 

And  there  was  his  earth  at  the  great  grey  shoulder, 

Sunk  in  the  ground,  of  a  granite  boulder 

A  dry  deep  burrow  with  rocky  roof, 

Proof  against  crowbars,  terrier-proof, 

Life  to  the  dying,  rest  for  bones. 

The  earth  was  stopped ;   it  was  filled  with  stones. 

Then,  for  a  moment,  his  courage  failed. 

His  eyes  looked  up  as  his  body  quailed, 

Then  the  coming  of  death,  which  all  things  dread, 

Made  him  run  for  the  wood  ahead. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX 


323 


<H| 


The  taint  of  fox  was  rank  on  the  air, 

He  knew,  as  he  ran,  there  were  foxes  there. 

His  strength  was  broken,  his  heart  was  bursting, 

His  bones  were  rotten,  his  throat  was  thirsting. 

His  feet  were  reeling,  his  brush  was  thick 

From    dragging    the    mud,    and    his    brain    was 

sick. 
He  thought  as  he  ran  of  his  old  delight 


324  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

In  the  wood  in  the  moon  in  an  April  night, 
His  happy  hunting,  his  winter  loving. 
The  smells  of  things  in  the  midnight  roving ; 
The  look  of  his  dainty-nosing,  red 
Clean-felled  dam  with  her  footpad's  tread, 
Of  his  sire,  so  swift,  so  game,  so  cunning 
With  craft  in  his  brain  and  power  of  running, 
Their  fights  of  old  when  his  teeth  drew  blood. 
Now  he  was  sick,  with  his  coat  all  mud. 

He  crossed  the  covert,  he  crawled  the  bank. 
To  a  meuse  in  the  thorns  and  there  he  sank. 
With  his  ears  flexed  back  and  his  teeth  shown  white, 
In  a  rat's  resolve  for  a  dying  bite. 


PRIZE 


32s 


And  there,  as  he  lay,  he  saw  the  vale. 

That  a  struggling  sunlight  silvered  pale, 

The  Deerlip  Brook  like  a  strip  of  steel, 

The  Nun's  Wood  Yews  where  the  rabbits  squeal, 

The  great  grass  square  of  the  Roman  Fort, 

And  the  smoke  in  the  elms  at  Crendon  Court. 

And  above  the  smoke  in  the  elm-tree  tops. 
Was  the  beech-clump's  blue.  Blown  Hilcote  Copse, 
Where  he  and  his  mates  had  long  made  merry 
In  the  bloody  joys  of  the  rabbit-herry. 

And  there  as  he  lay  and  looked,  the  cry 

Of  the  hounds  at  head  came  rousing  by ; 

He  bent  his  bones  in  the  blackthorn  dim. 

327 


328  REYNARD    THE    FOX 

But  the  cry  of  the  hounds  was  not  for  him, 

Over  the  fence  with  a  crash  they  went, 

Belly  to  grass,  with  a  burning  scent, 

Then  came  Dansey,  yelling  to  Bob, 

"They've  changed,  O  damn  it,  now  here's  a  job." 

And  Bob  yelled  back,  "Well,  we  cannot  turn  'em. 

It's  Jumper  and  Antic,  Tom ;    we'll  learn  'em. 

We  must  just  go  on,  and  I  hope  we  kill." 

They    followed    hounds    down    the    Mourne    End 

Hill. 
The  fox  lay  still  in  the  rabbit-meuse. 
On  the  dry  brown  dust  of  the  plumes  of  yews. 
In  the  bottom  below  a  brook  went  by. 
Blue,  in  a  patch,  like  a  streak  of  sky. 
There,  one  by  one,  with  a  clink  of  stone. 
Came  a  red  or  dark  coat  on  a  horse  half  blown. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  329 

And  man  to  man  with  a  gasp  for  breath 
Said,  "Lord,  what  a  run.     I'm  fagged  to  death." 

After  an  hour,  no  riders  came, 

The  day  drew  by  Hke  an  ending  game ; 

A  robin  sang  from  a  pufft  red  breast, 

The  fox  lay  quiet  and  took  his  rest. 

A  wren  on  a  tree-stump  carolled  clear. 

Then  the  starlings  wheeled  in  a  sudden  sheer. 

The  rooks  came  home  to  the  twiggy  hive 

In  the  elm-tree  tops  which  the  winds  do  drive. 

Then  the  noise  of  the  rooks  fell  slowly  still. 

And   the   lights   came  out  in   the  Clench    Brook 

Mill 
Then  a  pheasant  cocked,  then  an  owl  began 
With  the  cry  that  curdles  the  blood  of  man. 


And  man  to  man  with  a  gasp  for  breath 

Said,  "  Lord,  what  a  run.     I'm  fagged  to  death." 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  331 

The  stars  grew  bright  as  the  yews  grew  black, 
The  fox  rose  stiffly  and  stretched  his  back. 
He  flaired  the  air,  then  he  padded  out 
To  the  valley  below  him  dark  as  doubt, 
Winter-thin  with  the  young  green  crops. 
For  Old  Cold  Crendon  and  Hilcote  Copse. 


HOAIE 


333 


As  he  crossed  the  meadows  at  Naunton  Larking, 
The  dogs  in  the  town  all  started  barking. 
For  with  feet  all  bloody  and  flanks  all  foam, 
The  hounds  and  the  hunt  were  limping  home ; 
Limping  home  in  the  dark,  dead-beaten. 
The  hounds  all  rank  from  a  fox  they'd  eaten, 
Dansey  saying  to  Robin  Dawe, 
"The  fastest  and  longest  I  ever  saw." 
And  Robin  answered,  "O  Tom,  'twas  good, 

335 


For  with  feet  all  bloody  and  flanks  all  foam. 
The  hounds  and  the  hunt  were  limping  home. 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  ^^^j 

I    thought   they'd   changed    in   the   Mourne  End 

Wood, 
But  now  I  feel  that  they  did  not  change. 
We've  had  a  run  that  was  great  and  strange ; 
And  to  kill  in  the  end,  at  dusk,  on  grass. 
We'll  turn  to  the  Cock  and  take  a  glass. 
For  the  hounds,  poor  souls,  are  past  their  forces. 
And  a  gallon  of  ale  for  our  poor  horses, 
And  some  bits  of  bread  for  the  hounds,  poor  things. 
After    all    they've    done    (for    they've    done    like 

kings), 
Would  keep  them  going  till  we  get  in. 
We  had  it  alone  from  Nun's  Wood  Whin." 
Then  Tom  replied,  "If  they  changed  or  not, 
There've  been  few  runs  longer  and  none  more  hot. 
We  shall  talk  of  to-day  until  we  die." 


338  REYNARD  THE  FOX 

The  stars  grew  bright  in  the  winter  sky, 
The  wind  came  keen  with  a  tang  of  frost, 
The  brook  was  troubled  for  new  things  lost, 
The  copse  was  happy  for  old  things  found, 
The  fox  came  home  and  he  went  to  ground. 
And  the  hunt  came  home  and  the  hounds  were 

fed, 
They  climbed  to  their  bench  and  went  to  bed. 
The  horses  in  stable  loved  their  straw. 
"Good-night,  my  beauties,"  said  Robin  Dawe. 

Then  the  moon  came  quiet  and  flooded  full 
Light  and  beauty  on  clouds  like  wool. 
On  a  feasted  fox  at  rest  from  hunting. 
In  the  beech  wood  grey  where  the  brocks  were 
grunting. 


ti 


\\r 


,% 


'■IHk,   HOUNDS  AND   THE    HUNT   WERE   LIMPING   HOME; 
LIMPING   HOME  IN   THE   DARK  DEAU-HEA  TEN.- 


REYNARD    THE    FOX  339 

The  beech  wood  grey  rose  dim  in  the  night 
With  moonlight  fallen  in  pools  of  light, 
The  long  dead  leaves  on  the  ground  were  rimed. 
A  clock  struck  twelve  and  the  church-bells  chimed. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


li^b^im  FamBy  Library  of  Veterinary  Medww 
2iiniining8  School  of  Vetennaty  Medicine  al 

Tufts  Universrty 

200  Westbofo  Road 

North  Grafton  MA  01536 


